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A red haired young boy hurried through the busy street of Ruben, carefully weaving through gaps between passersby. The sky was a dull grey, and the gentle pitter patter of rain drops only served to accentuate the general feeling of drudgery that seemed to emanate from the town. One of the few towns of the Eilan El Wetlands, the town was used to the rains and seemed doomed to be perpetually sodden and grey.
The young boy’s eyes searched with an eagerness, however, for children were less inclined to have their mood soured by a little rain. As he moved away from the cobbled streets and rickety old timber houses, with the tiled rooftops, his already sodden boots splashed in the mud as he approached a run down, old cottage that was built next to the mill. There were fewer people around, only the mill workers who were beginning to return to their homes after a long day.
The boy passed them by, and a few smiled weakly and nodded to greet him, to which he returned the nods and continued towards the cottage. As he approached he heard a tremendous belly laugh, and he beamed with excitement as he turned the corner of the cottage.
“Oh sure, that’ll be shinin’ bright right enough!” The source of the laughter said loudly, before letting out another hearty chuckle. “Ya might convince the young lady to let you buy ‘er a drink, might even let you show ‘er your bedroom, but when she gets one look at your little pickle, she’ll be gone like the wind!” This met with laughter from the other mill workers. The man who was speaking was tall and broad shouldered, with a bald head and fiery, red beard.
“Dad!” The boy exclaimed as he joined the group of men.
“Oh, allo son!” The man replied, smiling at the boy and ruffling his hair. “Your old mum sent you to fetch me then? Must need ‘elp with gettin’ a jar open, eh lad?” The man laughed again, along with his coworkers, but the boy frowned slightly and shook his head.
“Dad, you said you’d take me to the fight tonight. Remember?” He asked.
“Oh that’s right.” His father replied with a nod. “Where’d you tell your mum you are?”
“Said we was going fishing, like you said.” The boy replied.
“Good lad.” The man said with a grin. “She’d ‘ave my arse tanned if she knew I was takin’ you to the fight.”
“Guess you’ll need to stop at the fishmongers on the way home then?” One of his coworkers asked.
“Nah.” Came the reply. “If I was any good at fishin’ I wouldn’t be sittin’ around here talking to you pillocks, would I?” Another round of laughter followed, and the men chatted some more. After a short while the boy tugged on his father’s shirt pleadingly. “All right, boy.” His father said, holding his hands up. “Come on then. I’ll get you a pie on the way.”
--- --- --- ---
The young boy ate his pie happily as he walked with his father, through the streets towards the pits. As they neared the streets became crowded as townsfolk began to file in to the four entryways to the large wooden structure in the center of town. When the boy and his father finally began to file inside, the noise of people talking and chanting grew deafeningly loud.
“Sounds like we’ve missed the first fight.” His father yelled. “Let’s hurry to the stands before the next one begins, eh?”
The pair made their way through the packed crowds, the brawny father pushing his way through the crowd with relative ease, gently prodding the boy along in front of him. Before long they found themselves overlooking the pits. Deep below them was a circular arena, caked in mud. The edges of the arena were decorated with thick, downward slanting spikes to stop the fighters from trying to climb out. At either side there were gates guarded by men clad in armour, carrying spears.
The crowd began to hush at the direction of a man stood in a boxed off area at the far end from where the boy and his father were stood. The man was dressed in a nobleman’s tailed jacket and a top hat. Yet the clothing was old and tattered, and the dirty trousers the man wore revealed he was no nobleman. He twirled his greasy fingers around his black mustache as he waited for the crowd to quieten. Then when relative silence fell, he spoke in a loud voice so all could hear.
“Ladies and gentleman!” Her cried, holding his hands up. “Oh, do we have a special treat for you tonight! Our first combatant, something of a local. Yet he don’t live in the town, something of a wild man! Well, if you can even call it a man. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you, caught fresh last night, a Wendigo!”
The gates below the man opened, and the boy shrieked in fear and gripped hold of his father as a terrifying creature emerged, snarling and howling, as men with spears prodded at it from behind, forcing it in to the ring. The creature looked like a man in some ways, but it’s body was covered in patches of greasy, matted fur. It’s eye sockets were hollow, and it’s flesh around it’s skull was torn, revealing bones underneath. It’s jaws were a mess of gnashing fangs, stained with blood. Small horns, like that of a dears, protruded from it’s head. It’s feet were like that of a beasts, and it’s long fingers each had a long, sharp claw at the end.
“Dad! Dad, what is that!?” The boy asked in a pitiful whine.
“A bloody demon, son.” His father replied. “But don’t you fear it, it can’t hurt you down there. If anythin’ deserves this fate it’s that wretched monster. It steals children and gobbles them up! Nothin’ worse! Well…”
“Well, what!?” The boy asked fearfully.
“Well…there’s Darklings o’ course. Not that there’s ever been any round these parts. I shouldn’t worry about ‘em.”
Before the boy could ask just what, exactly, a Darkling was, the announcer had began to speak again.
“Oh yes! I feel your disgust, ladies and gentleman! Surely there are few creatures more disgusting than this wretched beast! And what brave soul shall fight this monster? Now, an honest man such as myself would not dare to endanger his loyal men to such a beast. The only thing fit to fight a monster, is another monster!” The crowds whooped and cheered, banging their feet on the floor as the Wendigo, angry and distressed, howled and snarled, desperately trying to scale the spiked walls and then flailing in pain as it tore at it’s skin.
“I think you know what’s coming, ladies and gentleman!” The announcer said with a grin. “Only our most exciting new attraction. A demon who dared to step on our soil, travelling from across the sea to the vile lands of the east! A man who gave in to the devil’s whispers, who let a foul spirit infest and rot his brain! Ladies and gentleman…I give you…The Glaive of Falice!”
The crowd erupted in riotous cheering, their feet stamping, their arms flailing, as the other gate lifted. More men with spears prodded at a man, leading him in to the ring. This man, at first glance, seemed as ordinary as any of the onlookers. He was dressed only in ragged trousers, his bare chest covered in bruises, cuts and dirt. He looked lean and muscular, and quite young, perhaps in his late twenties. He had black hair swept back, short at the top, and long at the back, with thin, beaded braids tied through it. His hair had been shorn to the scalp at the sides of his head, and he had a thin shadow of stubble across his face.
The man’s arms were branded with faded, inky symbols, tattoos of a foreign language. Much more peculiar were the portions of his back, chest and arms, that seemed to have pale, white veins that travelled across his body like lightning in the sky. The young man turned to face the crowd behind him, and the boy caught a look at the man’s eyes. His irises were as white as the moon, and seemed to glow softly in the dark, torchlit arena.
The boy watched as the men retreated to the gates and began to close them. At the last moment they threw a weapon through the gap, and the man quickly moved to grab it. He held up the glaive by it’s long handle, it’s blade wide and curved, with strange engravings across the steel. It looked entirely different from any glaive the boy had seen. Perhaps it belonged to the man. Falice was across the ocean, and the boy knew little of what was there, but he had heard that the people there wore strange clothes and carried peculiar weapons.
The boy watched with anticipation as the man, the Glaive, turned to face his foe. The Wendigo was circling the Glaive in a predatory crouch, sizing him up. The Glaive moved much more delicately and precisely than his foe, each step an example of practiced footwork. He held his weapon at his side with the blade pointed downwards, in a relaxed grip. The crowd whooped and cheered as the pair circled one another, each one fixed on the other intently, watching, waiting.
Growing impatient, the wendigo suddenly lunged forwards, with its teeth bared. The Glaive side stepped it’s advance with ease, swinging his blade in an upward strike at the creature’s exposed flank, but the wendigo suddenly rolled to the side and avoided the strike with cat-like reflexes, and slid to a stop on all fours, primed to attack again. With a blood curdling roar it pounced at the Glaive, swiping furiously with it’s long claws. The Glaive vaulted backwards with a daring flip as the wendigo came down on the spot he had been previously, before lunging forwards with a joust, the blade’s edge gouging a deep cut across the creature’s shoulder.
The wendigo screamed a reeled back in pain. Then with another rattling cry it lunged forward at the Glaive. He responded with another thrust of his weapon, but the creature suddenly shifted it’s weight and with a scrambling jump it landed atop the weapon, pushing down and using it to vault over the man, it’s long claws swiping at his back, tearing four long, deep gashes across it, with blood spraying out and falling to the thick mud beneath.
The man cried out in pain and fell to his knees. The wendigo saw it’s chance and came at his from behind. The Glaive, fell forward and rolled on to his back, but the creature pinned him to the floor, it’s clawed fingers pushing tightly against his throat. The blood thirsty crowd jeered and yelled, as the anticipation of the fight’s end growing near. The wendigo’s fanged maw glistened with thick drool, as it lowered it’s head towards his neck. Then it shrieked as the Glaive thrust his blade into it’s side. It’s grip around his neck tightened and the man pushed with his blade, finding enough strength to push himself up and force the creature back. It wailed in pain as he twisted the blade in it’s chest, and it clawed furiously at it’s own flesh, trying to rend itself free. Then it got it’s wish as the Glaive wrenched his blade from it’s body, and using the momentum of the pull he spun on the spot, bringing the blade in a swing overhead, before cleaving the wendigo’s head clean from it’s shoulders, landing with a soft splat in the thick mud of the arena floor.
The crowd went wild, and as the stomping and cheering went on louder than it had ever been, the young boy watched as the pit masters flooded into the arena, spears at the ready. Archers notched their arrows and fired at the victorious man, sending three arrows in to his back. He cried in pain, dropping his weapon. The pikemen advanced on him, lunging and prodding at the beaten down man, as other men tied his arms and legs together in ropes, and then shackles. Once he was finally hog-tied, he was carried by two men through the dirt of the arena, and back in to the cells underneath.
“Well that was fucking glorious!” The boy’s father bellowed and clapped his son on the shoulders. “An’ there’s still 3 fights to go! Ah, isn’t this grand, son? Fuck it, I need a pint. Stay here…” His father disappeared in to the crowd, and the boy looked back down to the pits. They were already setting up for the next fight. All the onlookers seemed to be busy reveling and drinking, and paid little mind to what was going on in the interim.
Yet the boy noticed the stairs leading down to the cells beneath. The guards were too busy nattering with the spectators to even notice him. Curiosity got the better of him, and he left his spot, and crept quietly down the steps. At the bottom he was overwhelmed by the sudden, strong smell of piss, shit and blood. The noise of the crowd became a dull noise overhead. He moved slowly, cautiously, watchful for guards patrolling the halls. Yet he found the area to be decidedly lax of security, perhaps the men were busy setting up for the next fight.
The boy made his way through the various steel barred cells. Most were empty, some were covered with black tarps and he could hear bestial snarling from behind them. Finally, he found what he was looking for. A shadowy figure lay slumped at the back of one of the cells. He was breathing heavily, with a slight whimper on the exhale. He sounded like a wounded dog.
“Er…hello.” The boy said. Suddenly the figure stopped whimpering, and his eyes shot open, his white irises glowing softly in the darkness. A terrible silence fell over the room, and the boy suddenly felt quite afraid as the man watched him with an unwavering stare. “I…I’m sorry. It’s just…mister Glaive…you were really good. Um, I mean. Amazing. I just wanted you to know that…um…” The boy paused, feeling nervous.
“Tel.” The white-eyed man replied in a strange accent. “Tel anir. Galay, na tu djan wo. Adashwe!”
“I…I don’t understand.” The boy said. “Is that your people’s language? Um, Falician, is it?”
“De Njern. Wos hala Falice uma tel mjordietsche! Fos rova!” The man replied, his voice croaky and weak, but it held an angry tone.
“Uh…” The boy paused, he didn’t understand the man. “I’m Hoid, by the way.” He waited, but there was no response. “That’s my name.” He said. “My name is Hoid. Do you have a name?”
“Wos anir ‘name’ shala nur?” The man asked.
“Uh, name.” The boy said, and he put his hand to his chest. “Name. My name is Hoid. Do you understand?”
“My…name…is…Hoid.” The man replied slowly.
“No, that’s my name.” Hoid said, smirking slightly. He patted his chest. “Hoid.” He repeated. Then he pointed his finger at the man. “Your name is…” The man was silent for a long moment. He seemed to be thinking, and he watched the boy with such intensity, like he could see something that Hoid couldn’t.
“My name is…” He said finally. “…Loke.”
“Loke?” The boy asked. “Your name is Loke?”
“Mjet.” Loke replied, nodding in affirmation.
“Oh…does Mjet mean yes?” Hoid asked.
“…Yes.” Loke replied, and nodded again. “Mjet mean…yes.”
“Wow, you’re a quick learner.” Hoid said with a smile.
“Oi!” A voice yelled from down the hall. “What are you doing down here!? Where’s your parents?”
“Makyev Shtova, Hoid!” Loke said, with a hint of urgency in his voice. “Shtova! Shtova!” He tilted his head, urging the boy to run off. Hoid stumbled for a moment. He took a final look at Loke, and then he ran back up the stairs. The guard went running after the boy, and Loke was left alone in his cell, his wounds weeping badly. He felt heavy and exhausted. He closed his eyes again to rest.
“Hoid.” A voice inside his head said. “I…your…is…people…understand….vosh tet mura gamora?”
“Avoy wos njern, Nyx.” Loke replied.
“Nyx.” The voice replied. “My name is Nyx.”

Wormmon He emerges right after me, materializing in light from the soles of his boots to the last wisp of his dark onyx hair. Heâ€™s clad in black, now-- polished boots, heavy trousers, and a thick leather belt holding it all to his svelt waist. A grey shirt and the white fur sprouting from his leather jacket are the only light features to his ensemble, and the rest is capped off with slim black gloves, and dark belts affixed to his forearms. At one point I thought his wardrobe changes were intimidating, but then he started to wear a pair of square goggles around his neck. I remember them-- just like the pair Daisuke had broken when he first entered the digital world. Itâ€™s silent until we reach some kind of town. Ken and I have always had that quiet regard between us; though there are some times I feel like the silence really does say nothing. The town-- if I can call it that-- was a pod of half-submerged brick igloos. Most had trap doors on top and a variety of windows poking up out of the terracotta mud. Two Ogremon stood knee-deep in murky water with shovels, trying to clear the mud away from one of the domes that was twice as sunken as the rest of them. It seemed the more they pushed against the fill, the deeper they sunk in themselves. Woven through the village were muck trails of foot prints and tire tracks where machines had made their way through. Water was pooled shallowly in each tire tread and heelmark. A ways off, hardly visible through the low mist, was a two-story bathhouse and thick, hefty boulders pooling in the hot springs that bubbled up. The elegant rock garden had water spilling over and around, and even where we stood, the water was warm against my feet. â€œWormmon, would you digivolve?â€ Iâ€™d always do anything for Ken. I let our bond fill me with strength, my eyes closing as I looked up at Ken, and opening again looking down. It felt like letting go of a warm handshake. â€œPlease, help these Ogremon get their house out of the mud.â€ I put my wings to work like never before, pulling up on the door frame as the Ogremon pushed from below. â€œAh wish we could just move theseâ€ one of the Ogremon sighed between heavy breaths. â€œShore be easier than movinâ€™ that bigâ€™un.â€ He jerked his head to the bathhouse, and then wagged it all around them. â€œCanâ€™t believe how much they dammed this place up. Lousy hu-mons.â€ Quietly, I noticed Ken had vanished. Weâ€™d finally gained some traction against the suction of the deep mud, and the house was starting to heave upwards. The other ogremon rolled some rocks the size of bowling balls into the ditch they were creating, and they helped the house to rest on them so that it was on higher ground. â€œYouâ€™ve done a great job, guys. I prepared us some snacks!â€ Ken chirped up, red in the face and holding out some bagged treats in his gloved hands. There was a faint pungent smell under the sweet cinnamon coming off the treats, like masking dirty socks beneath a candle. I decided Ken had probably gotten a lot of water down his boots. â€œYouâ€™re not so bad, eh?â€ The Ogremon tromped over, his wide feet lifting him across the waste like snowshoes on fresh powder. Together they all sat on a bench that had been tied up to tree branches rather than posted up from the ground. It swung (when two Ogremon werenâ€™t sitting on it) and most importantly, it hadnâ€™t sunk into the mire. The tree that supported it was starting to grey, its roots oversaturated in the swampy mudland. Ken passed out the snacks, and I returned to a more manageable size. â€œI remember, you know, it wasnâ€™t that long ago.â€ The Ogremon continued, and waved his club out towards the wastes. â€œThe hot spring made a river, you know, but just barely. The landâ€™s all pretty flat out here, but a long time ago the water decided it was going to flow that way and leave us meadows and farmland, right? Oooh I remember when the Palmon used to come to plant and harvestâ€¦â€ His eyes started to glaze over with a smile, until his friend elbowed him sharply. â€œ--Argh, right, but there it was, and here we were. And when the hu-mons found the hot spring and put all them rocks there, I guess the bubble-over just decided it could go anywhere. Weâ€™ve been sinkinâ€™ inches by the year. And the Palmon donâ€™t come back.â€ Ken sat, nodding almost sagely. It seemed we did this a lot, these days-- listened to stories, tried to give what help we could. Ken had lost the surprise, had soured even to offering a sad glance at the struggling Digimon these days. I knew he was burdening himself with their pain, knew heâ€™d take it in to the point of breaking. But I also knew that we would go back to the real world, and Daisuke would come home, and some little part of that fatigue and frustration would unravel and dissipate. No one else could keep Ken sane. A crackling popped in the distance, at first like breaking wood; I looked up. But it grew louder, like fireworks, like lava boiling over and the resultant splatter. A warm wind passed, and as the hot, acrid scent of gunpowder and nitrate lingered in the air, I looked back across the mist. There was no bath house, and the rock gardens laid in gravel piles. â€œLetâ€™s head back, Wormmon.â€ It is complicated to describe how I felt at that moment. Eager, to take him up on the offer. Uneasy, suspicious-- and my suspicions continued to make me uneasy. I felt trust bend, and creak within me. I wanted nothing more than to believe Ken had nothing to do with what had happened. I felt, if I could not believe that, I would have to doubt everything. Doubt that Ken was truly doing what was best for the Digimon affected by the Million Points of Light. Doubt that Daisuke was keeping him grounded. Doubt that Ken was slipping out of his right mind and I didnâ€™t know him well enough to notice while he was nearly healthy. More than anything I did not want to doubt that I could follow Ken anywhere, that I could withstand even death to save my partner from his own. We returned. Blissfully clean, Ken skulked off to take a shower anyway, as if the digital mud was still caked up to his knees. I listened to the water pour down until the door swung open, and Daisuke and Veemon paraded in from another successful day with the street noodle cart. â€œAaayyy little man, whereâ€™s Ken? That slacker nappinâ€™? Hah, I bet heâ€™s had his nose in a book all day. Nerd.â€ The fire-spiked redhead dashed down to his and Kenâ€™s mutual bedroom, skating on his socks half the way there. The dark D-3 was still resting by the computer screen, but little was amiss besides. All that Daisuke noticed was Ken wasnâ€™t in there, so he stopped, and tracked him by the shower beating rain across the floor. â€œHe-hey, can I come in?â€ Daisuke took a mumble for a yes, and helped himself. Daisuke â€œLike, can I really come in?â€ I started shucking my shirt, socks, letting it all pile up on the floor. I pushed aside the shower curtain and found Ichijouji posed against the back wall. One arm folded, holding the other, and the remaining hand touching his jaw nearly at his mouth. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth ajar. â€œI donâ€™t know, can you?â€ He cocked his head. I felt faint from how fast my blood made it into my dick. â€œI can.â€ I nodded; I swear my head whipped around like my neck had turned to jello. Pants hit the floor. I shut the curtain around us to keep from flooding the bathroom even further, and pushed my hands against the shower wall to either side of Kenâ€™s head. â€œWhat the hellâ€™s gotten into you, Ichijouji?â€ He shrugged. â€œJust a rush, I guess.â€ His slender arms entangled me, his leg slipped around the both of mine as he drew our bodies flush. Our nethers started to mingle, and I felt him stiffen at the touch of mine. â€œI wish me getting home always turned you on this much.â€ I laughed, a little awkwardly. It was sort of a sore point in the past-- Ken had shied away from anything even remotely public (no kissing near windows) and sometimes, that translated to just feeling too self-conscious to even get nasty in the privacy of their own bedroom. It had been much better-- like wowza way better-- lately, a mix of Ken clinging to me in any spare moment, to him initiating, to just being downright more vocal about what he wants. I suppose itâ€™s the comfortable bliss stage that every long-term relationship hopes for; god knows Ken was already perfect in every other way. â€œOh come on Motomiya. Maybe you should always ambush me in the shower?â€ Ken perked a little smirk, and I thirsted to kiss it off his smug face. He picked his chin up away from me-- fucking tall prick-- and I went to town on his neck instead, to the sound of his deep chuckle. â€œI never thought youâ€™d pick up a kink.â€ I laughed, slithering my tongue up Kenâ€™s neck until he finally looked down and took it into his mouth. We mingled together, tasted each other for a while. â€œYou inspire me.â€ Ken had real bedroom eyes now, and the anxious heavy beat of his heart was jarring against my rapid one. I longed to bring them into sync, to take Kenâ€™s body and merge it with mine in the only way humans knew how. No matter how many times Iâ€™d taken Ken, it would never get old. His was the complementary flesh to mine, and no one would ever feel as hot and right in my arms. My hands were groping at his thighs now, my chest rubbing against his as our members brushed beneath. His hands slicked down my back, thick soap bubbles a wake of his slippery hands. They found my ass and tightened around it. â€œAh! Ken, are you trying toâ€¦?â€ â€œI want to do this to you, this time.â€ Ken was smiling, his soaped fingers slipping between my cheeks, digits probing in gentle circles around the orifice. Each round pushed more and more insistently, and I could feel a warm pleasure stirring my lower abdomen. Suddenly, just the tip of one of Kenâ€™s slender fingers nudged up inside, and urged a soft moan out of me. â€œI meanâ€¦ if thatâ€™s what you wantâ€¦â€ I was blushing, even the cool shower wouldnâ€™t quench my face. An old and familiar glint crossed Kenâ€™s eyes as he tightened his serpent grip around me, and pressed his finger deeper inside. Like Ken on the battlefield-- the competitive Ken, Ken on the soccer pitch with a need to win something. Here I was, prostrate in his arms, just the same reverence for Ichijouji as when Iâ€™d sat like a fanboy to watch his championship games. His finger urged deeper into me still, and swirled inside. â€œOh! Wowâ€¦â€ I pushed my face into his chest, tried not to tighten up. I let my hands grip tight to Kenâ€™s hips, and felt him lighten his touch any time my grip became too much. â€œYouâ€™re mine, Motomiyaâ€¦â€ His words caressed my hair, and as one soapy finger became two, and then three, I was wrenched from his front and pressed into the neighboring shower wall. Ken conformed to my back, and held me by the abdomen as he guided his cock into my slippery, well-stretched hole. It still felt decidedly more filling than the three fingers had. â€œDamn! Kenâ€¦â€ My breath fogged against the tile wall. I counted my blessings that Ken was the the more slender of dicks between us, same as our figures. I swelled with precum at the thought of what this felt like when it was me fucking Ken-- and then dripped as Ken pressed all the way to his hilt, and withdrew. â€œAmazingâ€¦â€ Ken whispered, pulling away from my back just briefly. His thumb pulled at my ass, and I assumed he was admiring what it looked like to be the one on top for a change. â€œFuck me, dammit!â€ I couldnâ€™t stand my own impatience. I was trembling through my knees. My balls were sore with the need for release. â€œOh?â€ Ken quickly rammed himself back in, and I hugged the wall with a whimper. â€œDude!?â€ My voice cracked as Ken pulled out again. Across his brow was a momentary downturn, his lips tightening for just a moment. Was heâ€¦ angry? I opened my mouth to apologize for rushing him, only to have two fingers stuffed inside, pressing down on my tongue. â€œI will, then.â€ With his other hand wrapped around my cock, a rhythm built up between us. The quick thrust as he pressed us into the wall, the slow withdraw as I moved my hips back same as him, and let myself fuck his hand. As if he knew the feeling of his own body, his hand wrapped at just the perfect pressure to get me moaning his name. â€œIchijoujiâ€¦ nnhâ€¦â€ My red hair matted the wall, my tongue swirled around Kenâ€™s fingers with the practiced skill of taking his cock. Ken nipped at the back of my neck and along the shoulder, leaving little red bruises for the next day. â€œMmm, Daisukeâ€¦â€ Ken became awash in the delicately soft moans I loved him for. The â€˜uhnsâ€™ that strained at the back of his throat became the herald of his orgasm. I bucked my hips to meet his and felt him fill me with hot seed, and then again felt it drip down out of my body in a bubbly string and the clean scent of ivory soap. Kenâ€™s hands were at my sides again, their touch tender, almost hesitant as they urged me to turn. Water sleuced down my body as Ken took to his knees, kneeling down before my still-stiff cock. His fingers worked the soap from the surface, and worked another pearly droplet of precum to my tip that he could kiss away with those devious lips of his. What started from a soft massage of lips at the head worked into a tongue-slick swallowing of all I had to offer; Ken daring to gag ever so slightly as I filled to the back of his throat. Through the shower rain he beat his eyelashes to look up at me, my cock swelling between his stretched lips and strained jaw. Needless to say, I released immediately. Ken sucked to the last drop as he let me out, and turned the shower knobs to off as he rose to his feet. â€œLet me know when youâ€™re ready to go again.â€ Ken wrapped himself in a soft cotton bathrobe, and smiled ever so slightly my way. And he left it like that, slipping out of the bathroom and out around the corner to elsewhere in the flat. Maybe it was just the refractory period introspection getting to me, or maybe it was the ache between my legs from Kenâ€™s brief outburst when Iâ€™d urged him, butâ€¦ I couldnâ€™t let that out of my mind. Ken was much more aggressive in bedâ€¦ though it didnâ€™t seem sudden, just dramatic. Like a creeping vine had taken root and started to flower inside of Ken, and only now that it was blooming did I notice it there. Or maybe not like a vine at allâ€¦ but a spore? Ken "Wormmon, could I have this space to myself?" I slid down across the bed surface, peeked at the tragic sparkle that came across Wormmon's eyes when I asked him to leave. Ah, that little drama queen. "Just for now. Veemon is home, won't you play with him?" I raised my eyebrows, and Wormmon reluctantly let the point get across. "Alright, Ken..." the bug digimon scuttled away, and I nudged the door most of the way closed with an outstretched foot as he left. Peace. I felt warm, and good. These simple things I let satisfy me for a while. Despite all I'd done today, despite the things I'd just done to Daisuke... I felt lively. My post-coital fog lifted and I felt ready to do my day over again. Of course, I couldn't inflict that sort of schedule onto Wormmon, but it was encouraging that I'd get this sort of continuing high from the help I'd given those Ogremon earlier today. Honestly, I'd half expected it to haunt me. And to be fair, the fact that I do feel this good, is. I let my mind sink back to Daisuke, and that was all the distraction I needed. I felt fixated on him recently-- perhaps because his new work kept us apart even longer hours. I need him so urgently... urgently enough to fuck him myself this time. And it felt perfect.

Los Angeles, the famous City of Angels, was anything but. Nowhere else in the U.S was it more appropriate to be strange, weird, or different. It was 2015 and L.A was bloated with hipsters, cool kids and celebrities. In an age where it was cool to be strange, this city was home to all sorts of macabre entities. For all the Glitz and Glam of Hollywood and stardom, and for all the culture, and music, and art, there is of course a seedy underbelly. Drugs, Debauchery, Murder and Violence are commonplace and in a city like this the freaks can thrive. In Downtown L.A, in an unmarked and unremarkable office block, a single office room was still occupied at this time of night, a warm glow emanating from the frosted window, above a plate on the door which read: Vincent Hallow â€“ Paranormal Investigator Inside the office was a complete mess. Paper was littered across the filing cabinets and old, dark oak desk. A single lamp on the desk illuminated the room. On the tattered old chair by the desk, a young man just shy of 30 was sitting with his feet on the desk, wearing a pair of old, black Doc Martin boots and a pair of torn and dirty, dark blue jeans, and a black Pantera T-shirt that looked like it was from the 80â€™s. The young man had thick, greasy black hair that was swept back and tied in a short ponytail behind his head. His face was dark with stubble and his eyes were a brilliant emerald. He was engrossed in the novel he was reading, smirking at himself like a child who had heard a dirty joke he wasnâ€™t supposed to know. Then, suddenly, the ringing of a phone breached the silence and the man sighed heavily, tossing the book on to the desk and pulling his feet off. He searched under the mess of paper and finally found the phone and picked it up. â€œMister Hallowâ€™s Office, what do you want?â€ He grumbled down the phone irritably. â€œUm, is that Mister Hallow?â€ a voice on the other end asked. It was a woman, her voice seemed quite confident despite her confusion. â€œNoâ€¦Iâ€™m a burglar robbing his office.â€ The man, Vincent, replied sarcastically. â€œIâ€™m sorry?â€ came the response. â€œItâ€™s a joke lady. I ainâ€™t got any shit worth stealing.â€ Vincent replied. â€œItâ€™s almost 9pm, The office is closed.â€ â€œWaitâ€¦itâ€™s quite important that I speak with you Mister Hallow.â€ The voice asked. â€œYour website says youâ€™re a Paranormal Investigator. Is that correct?â€ â€œWell I sure as shit ainâ€™t a fireman, lady.â€ He replied, shaking his head. â€œRight, sorry.â€ Came the response. â€œLookâ€¦this is probably going to sound really strangeâ€¦â€ â€œReally? Youâ€™re calling a Paranormal Investigator about something strange? Get out of town!â€ He replied. â€œLookâ€¦Mister Hallow.â€ The woman sounded exasperated. â€œIâ€¦I think my friendâ€™s boss is aâ€¦â€ The woman sighed. â€œâ€¦a Vampire.â€ â€œUhuhâ€¦â€ Vincent murmured, sounding quite disinterested. â€œAnd?â€ â€œWellâ€¦I want you to investigate it. Isnâ€™t that what you do?â€ She asked. â€œSo you just want me to confirm it?â€ Vincent asked. â€œThen what?â€ â€œI donâ€™t know I justâ€¦I think my friend might be in danger.â€ The woman began to sound distressed. â€œItâ€™s like sheâ€™sâ€¦different.â€ â€œVampire will do that, I guess.â€ Vincent replied. â€œLook, tell you what, my fee is one hundred bucks an hour. Luckily for you my case load isâ€¦light at the moment. So I can dedicate my time to this. Iâ€™ll need a retainer, five hundred dollars up front. Is your friend worth that much?â€ â€œIâ€¦thatâ€™s a lot of money.â€ She replied. â€œWell I got bills to pay, lady.â€ He bit back. â€œSo whatâ€™s it going to be?â€ The woman paused for a moment. Vincent waited, searching his desk for a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one from the packet and lit it with a metal zippo. â€œOkayâ€¦â€ the woman said finally. â€œWould cash be okay? You can come pick it up now if you want.â€ â€œMm, okay.â€ Vincent replied as smoke billowed from his mouth. â€œWhatâ€™s your address?â€ The woman gave him an address and he wrote it down on a scrap of paper. He finished the call and put the phone down, puffing on his cigarette as he stood up. He reached behind his chair and pulled an old, brown duster coat over his skinny frame, before placing the half empty pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He checked his right wrist, making sure he was wearing the charm bracelet. It was a metallic bracelet with 5 charms each with unique symbols across it. As he left he picked up an old wooden cane with an ivory handle fashioned in to the shape of a talon wrapped around an orb. Although as he picked up his stride it was clear he had no use for a cane, and held it horizontally as he strode out of his office and in to the corridor. He flicked the butt of his cigarette on the floor of the corridor and continued walking. Stepping in to the elevator at the far end he hit the ground floor button and waited for the battered machine to slowly take him down. Despite his tone with the woman on the phone, he had to admit to himself that he really needed the work. Even in this city of weirdoâ€™s, being a Paranormal Investigator wasnâ€™t exactly a lucrative career. The thought of the retainer was enough to keep him interested. Heâ€™d been living on cup ramen for about two weeks now. Not to mention his rent was due three days ago. Five hundred bucks smelled pretty good right about now. Especially for identifying a Vampire. How hard could that be, right? He knew what to look for. The real trouble came if the guy was dangerous. There were plenty of Vampires in L.A, most of them living pretty normal lives. Vincent actually knew one who worked at McDonalds. He hailed a cab and made his way across downtown L.A. Even so late at night traffic was a nightmare and he didnâ€™t get to his clientâ€™s apartment until about 10.30PM. The apartment was in a pretty shady part of town, he was pretty surprised this lady was willing to cough up five hundred bucks. He tapped his cane on the door three times and waited. After a short wait he heard a chain being unhooked and finally the door was opened. In front of him was a woman in black leggings and a short denim shirt, with a pink tube-top only barely covering her ample breasts. Her hair was bleached blonde but the dark roots were showing, and her face was, in a word, loud. â€œMister Hallow?â€ The woman asked. â€œVincent.â€ He replied. â€œAnd you must beâ€¦â€ â€œChelsea.â€ She said with a half-hearted smile. â€œOf course you areâ€¦â€ Vincent said as he rolled his eyes. He moved forward and the woman moved, a little caught off guard at him letting himself in. The studio apartment was a little messy but nowhere near as bad as his own. The smell of cheap perfume hung in the air, and a milder smell of stale cigarettes. The carpet was cream coloured but there were red wine stains in patches of it. Overall pretty much what he had expected once he had seen Chelsea. He sat himself down on the armchair next to her television and crossed his right foot over his knee. â€œSoâ€¦youâ€™re a hooker, right?â€ â€œUhâ€¦yes.â€ Chelsea replied a little hesitantly. She took a wad of notes from her purse and tossed them to him. He eyed the notes in his hand but didnâ€™t bother to count before stuffing them in his pocket. â€œI bet that felt weird, giving someone else a big wad of cash?â€ He said with a mildly amused smirk. However Chelsea did not find it humorous. He spoke again, changing the subject. â€œSo youâ€™re friend is a hooker too, right? Her boss is a pimp. Does this sound right?â€ â€œUhâ€¦yeah.â€ She replied. â€œHeâ€™s not my boss though. He uhâ€¦he owns that club, Divinity. You know it?â€ â€œOh yeah, I go clubbing all the time.â€ Vincent replied sarcastically. â€œSo is a business man. Nightclubâ€™s the official job, but heâ€™s pimping on the side. So what makes you think heâ€™s a Vampire?â€ â€œWellâ€¦my friend Rebecca. Sheâ€™s been wearing a lot of scarves and gloves but Iâ€™ve seen the marks on her neck.â€ Chelsea looked afraid. â€œCould be a client, no?â€ Vincent suggested. â€œVampires get lonely too.â€ â€œNo, sheâ€™s not like other girls. Sheâ€™sâ€¦his.â€ Chelsea explained. â€œHe pays her to be with him only. Well, her and a few other girls.â€ â€œNiceâ€¦â€ Vincent muttered, before catching her glance and clearing his throat. â€œI mean uhâ€¦right. Look letâ€™s say he is a Vampire. What makes you think sheâ€™s in trouble?â€ â€œSheâ€™s been scared thatâ€™s all.â€ Chelsea said with a shrug. â€œI thought maybe he was getting a little too possessive. Maybe she wanted out and he wonâ€™t let her, something like that?â€ â€œSoâ€¦want me to jam a stake in his heart then?â€ Vincent asked. â€œWhoa, whoa.â€ Chelsea backed off, waving her hands. â€œI never said to kill anybody. I meanâ€¦if heâ€™s a vampire then the cops can deal with that, right?â€ â€œI donâ€™t think itâ€™s strictly illegal to be a supernatural creature.â€ Vincent replied. â€œBut if heâ€™s a danger to her thenâ€¦he should be stopped. Right?â€ â€œYeahâ€¦I guess so.â€ Chelsea said with a nod. She looked up at him, and thatâ€™s when it happened. He was normally careful, but heâ€™d slipped up. She looked him dead in the eye, and she went as white as a sheet. Vincent pulled his gaze from her and stood up from the chair, suddenly full of unease. It had only been a split second, but in that time he had stricken her with terror. â€œWh-whatâ€¦â€ Chelsea was trying to find the words. â€œWhatâ€¦was that?â€ â€œItâ€™sâ€¦hard to explain.â€ Vincent replied, quieter than he had been before. â€œWhen you look in to my eyes we sort of share a moment, and we truly see each other. Beyond the lies, the barriers we put up to protect ourselves. Just the raw, naked versions of ourselves. Itâ€™sâ€¦not pleasant.â€ â€œIâ€¦what are you?â€ Chelsea asked, â€œLike a magician or something?â€ â€œA magician?â€ Vincent replied, raising his brow. â€œIâ€™m a wizard, lady. A sorcerer. A magus, conjurer, warlock. A magician is a schmuck with a pack of cards. I donâ€™t do parlour tricks.â€ â€œI-â€œ â€œForget it.â€ Vincent snapped. â€œLook Iâ€™ve got to go. Iâ€™ll look in to this for you. Iâ€™ll send you an invoice for the rest.â€ He moved out of the apartment without another word. He had to get out of there, he never liked getting caught in a soulgaze. Whenever a wizard, like him, caught eyes with someone for the first time, they would see into each other. It was unpleasant, especially for non-magical people. In the briefest of moments he had saw how truly vulnerable Chelsea was, how broken and damaged she felt. Yet what she had saw was probably far worse, he wasnâ€™t sure. He didnâ€™t like poking around in his own head for that very reason. Instead he made his way through the streets, pulling out his phone and googling the Nightclub called Divinity. He followed the GPS map on his phone. Technology was a pretty magical thing these days. The thought made him smirk. Here he was a modern day wizard, one who could bend the very laws of nature to his will, and he was impressed by a computer chip in a shiny case. As he turned the corner to reach Divinity he was greeted by red and blue flashing lights. Yellow tape and a crowd of cold and annoyed clubbers were in his way. When he stepped up to the tape a police officer held out his hand to him. â€œIâ€™m sorry, sir. This area is closed to the public while we conduct an investigation.â€ â€œWhat happened?â€ Vincent asked. â€œIâ€™m sorry sir please move along.â€ The officer pushed. Vincent let out a sigh. Typical. He had a bad feeling about this. There was no way he was getting past the cops, and he didnâ€™t feel much like spending a night in holding. Maybe for anyone else this would be a problem, but he had a trick up his sleeve. It was another rather unpleasant ability that wizards had, and not something they took pleasure in using. That being said, if his suspicions were right then time was wasting. He closed his eyes and focused on what he wanted. He pictured an eye appearing in the centre of his forehead, an eye that could see what his mortal eyes could not. When he opened his eyes again, the world around him had drastically changed. The police lights were gone, and the people around him had twisted in shape, becoming either beautiful, or more often, gruesome caricatures of themselves. His third eye saw what people really were. The sky above was red, and the ground beneath him was covered in a black ooze that stunk of decay. He looked to the nightclub, itâ€™s Neon lights were littered with perched ravens. It all pointed to one thing. Death, an unclean death. Murder. â€œShitâ€¦â€ Vincent cursed, as his vision returned to normal. â€œâ€¦Why do I have the feeling the victim is called Rebeccaâ€¦â€

Apocalyptic Zombie Scene: The virus started like any other one you would see in the movies. It was February 2nd, 2016 and a day like no other shitty winter day. The new started to broadcast a nation wide alert, warning people to stay indoors and not to venture out to investigate why tornado sirens were going off and the small shake of bombs moving pictures on the shelves. Of course no dumb ass American will listen to the news because why? We are hard headed Americans that's why. The infection itself as developed by Nelson Trount, an egotistical maniac who listened to no one and wanted to create a war weapon against Germany because he was insane and wanted to begin war just to watch the whole world suffer. Of course he was the first person to be consumed by the virus when one of his lab technicians, Samual Lane- bless his soul for kill Nelson but damn him for killing the world, was showing it to Nelson and found the leg of a table in his way and the virus in his hand on Nelson's face, which turned into Nelson consuming Sameal's face in return. Now, the virus spread by bite first, then the blood in the sewers contaminated most water supplies and finally spread around the world. And from here you can probably guess what happened and how the world turned into a giant shit hole just like the movies. God, why do people not educate themselves with the film industry? "Hey Z! Which way we heading?" Spark radioed from the gas tanker driving behind me. "Yeah, Spark honestly needs to piss." Blaze spoke right after him from the same tanker but from the passenger seat. "Me and Ellie and absolutely craving a shower." Taliea's radio, still static filled entered the channel from the armory truck. "Baby, never say that word again.." Malik laughed his deep barrel laugh, filling my truck with a light vibration from the ambulance and medical truck. "Guys, We are heading west like we have been for two days. The next large city is only 37 miles out and we should hit it by high noon. We can find a hotel and get everything figured out there. and Blaze, quit with your twin mind shit, I do not need to know these things." I called back to the convoy filed behind me as I drove the lead truck towards the city of Lily, Indiana- a small town in the middle of the woods but big enough for all of us and small enough for only 20-30 zombie freaks. My convoy consists of the Twins, tow boys around the age of 19 or so that share some weird brain waves and drive the large tanker that holds the gas we use to fuel the trucks. Their unique names come from where we found them, lighting zombies on fire and watching the burn up. Blaze would douse them in gas and Spark would light the lighter to set them on fire. Taliea is 22 and is our lead weapons expert due to her military background and her love of shooting things. Ellie is a little girl we picked up a while ago in a warehouse filed with electronics an such which she found a way to connect to make a security system. She is brilliant for only being 12 years of age. Malik is our lead man in medical care and such due to him being one of those amazingly attractive black nurses you dream of having if you ever have to be admitted into a hospital, he's around 29 years old. I am the leader of this nice rag tag group due to me being someone who has seen the most horror movies and the one who got every single one of these bastards out of a shit storm of zombies or saved their life in some other way. I am Zoey Redbird, but most of the team just calls me Z for short. I am an expert with a sniper and throwing knives. This is my crew, and they are idiots but I love them I think, and we have been surviving this place for over 2 years together. Let's hope we can survive many more until this fucking world decides to get it's shit together. ( I am giving you free range to create a character of you liking and we can talk about how we can fit him or her into our roleplay. This can be romantic and sexual if preferred due to me liking both men and women. Once you have read everything and you have figured out your character you can share it with me and we can get the roleplay going. All I ask is that you are somewhat literate in english and can provide some type of detail to the posts we have. I am not expecting a novel nor a paragraph but I would like something more than just one word or something like that. If interested please let me know so I can get your info and give you time to develop! I also have reference photos as well. http://imgur.com/a/Hwk4P )

The Midnight Court 5:45am The first signs of morning began to creep steadily past the broken window shutters of the hobble home. Marite Magdelinna Lanza lay asleep in her self-made bed of tattered sheets and hay. Her mind drifted through beautiful dreams of flowers and meadows, rivers and valleys. In her mind the sun was setting. Her eyes gazed down; she could almost feel the blades of grass on her feet as she slowly walked. Her hands outstretched on both her sides gently caressing the high blooming flowers all around her. Her vision came up and she glanced at the mysterious and vast meadow she found herself in. The image wasn't crystal clear like in reality. In her dream world it was almost as if she were moving through a painting. Soft lines and blurred colors danced all around her. Her attention moved farther up to the sky as the sun set and the giant other worldly moon took its place. The flowers seemed to melt away into the ground and she was left staring up at the night sky yet surrounded below in darkness. There was a muffled noise from behind her. She didn't understand why, but her mind quickly flooded with fear. It was impossible for her to will her sight to glance behind. The muffled noises grew louder, and more concerning, nearer. As she stood trembling the noises stopped. Mia began to relax until a voice quietly whispered into her ear. "You don't deserve these pretty things, you deserve nothing..." Mia turned around to see her mother standing inches from her and without another word she simply disappeared into fog, drifting up into the night sky. Suddenly she felt a strange sticky sensation on her feet. How had she not noticed this before? Mia looked down to horrifically find her feet and all the area around her drenched in blood. As she began to panic and walk backwards now her white dress was stained red, as well as her hands. She stumbled back and fell down. Her body sank slowly deeper and deeper into the blood soaked ground. Try as she might she could not escape until finally she took her last gasps of air as her face was submerged into the dark red liquid. 6:10am Mia awoke on her sheets slightly damp with sweat. It took her a few moments to get her breathing under control, but once she had she was able to take in the beautiful morning around her. She could hear baby birds chirping outside her window and the smell of fresh baked bread was just starting to waft in from the bakery attached to her home. She stood up quickly with a sigh of relief and examined herself and her 'bed', this would not do. A smile graced her face as Mia walked over to the window on her left. She cast open the shutters and dim morning light flooded into the room. The home was small, just this single room, but that was all Mia needed. She had moved into here recently after the death of her mother three months prior. She was experiencing a new sense of freedom now without her mother's rules to abide by, but also a lot more self reliance. The move had been quite easy for her, her previous home wasn't much bigger than the new room, but it had been a proper home with a small kitchen and fireplace. This new home was a small room attached to the back end of the local bakery. She managed to acquire the room rent free as long as she handled simple morning chores at the bakery such as bringing water from market and sweeping before bed. She even received stale bread for dinner after the bakery closed at night. The arrangement often seemed too good to be true. Mia had her suspicions that the Baker's wife had other reasons for keeping her around. Specifically, possibly, for her son Fernando. He was in his mid twenties and unwed. The man had a very pigish face, large protruding ears, sizable nose, and a double chin from clearly too much bread. The Baker family had been unsuccessful in acquiring any sort of marriage proposal that was advantageous for their status and his mother simply gave up trying to find one. The Baker's wife had set her sights to the future, it didn't matter the status, she simply needed to find her son a beautiful wife to produce beautiful grandchildren, whom then could make a better marriage. Mia fit the bill. Mia stood in front of the window for awhile admiring the new sun. The warm beams made her copper hair glow with fiery gold hues. Her moon-like grey eyes glistened as she viewed the new day with the wonder and excitement you might see in a child's eyes. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath of morning air before turning back around and hurriedly fixing up the place. She tidying some of her few belongings on a rocking chair in the corner and then set out some fresh clothes to wear. She looked back at the window making sure there weren't any on gazers before she let her sleeping dress fall from her shoulders to the ground. Her ivory skin was revealed to the daylight as Mia took a few moments stretching her arms up above her head. She got out an elegant cat like stretch before adorning her lower half with a white frilly, trouser-like garment that came to her knees. Next she threw a large white long sleeves chemise over her top frame. After that came a brown sleeveless dress and finally she loosely secured a dark brown corset with off white flowers around her waist. Mia ran a brush through her long hair quickly before turning abruptly to leave. Just as her hand touched the door knob it swung open all on its own. Staring back at her from across the entry way that lead to the bakery was her lovely landlady, the baker's wife. The short rotund woman looked Mia up and down sternly. Mia gave a sheepish apologetic smile and tried to get a word in, but before she could say anything the baker's wife had put up her hand to silence her. "Mia, my girl, this just will not do." The woman walked around to her back. "tsk tsk tsk. not at all" Mia attempted to turn and face her but the woman shoved her forward into the wall. "Put up your hands." "What?..but.." "You can not go out there in front of my Fernando without this blasted corset drawn properly..." Mia obediently put her hands up on the wall next to the door as the Baker's wife began to re-cinch her corset. As she tightened the garment Mia felt her lungs compress as some air was forced out of her. Her already small waist was made even tinier and her beautifully formed breasts were forced up creating an enticing amount of cleavage. When she was done Mia stood back up properly and turned around for the woman to see. She definitely looked better, her figure very alluring and sensual. The woman nodded at her handiwork. "Much better." her tone was very matter of fact. Mia quietly questioned, "May I go collect the water from market now?" The baker's wife looked up with a small frown as if Mia had rudely interrupted her thinking. She shook her hand shooing her out of the room. "Yes yes silly girl, but make sure you say good morning to my son on your way out." Mia was polite and simply curtsied and nodded. "Of course ma'am" She then quickly turned and dashed out of the room. Mia smiled as she greeted customers in the bakery. A couple people offered her a good morning which she delightfully replied back. She was finally through the shop and at the front door when she saw Fernando standing by the water pails. His eyes were irritated and glazed over; his demeanor could be best described as grumpy. Mia looked him up and down as he was unaware of her presence. It wasn't that she was only un-attracted to him, physical looks were something she could easily get past, but Fernando was also simply dull. She couldn't see a future with him at all. Mia took a little breath in, or at least as much as her corset would allow, and proceeded over. "Good morning Fernando! Isn't it a beautiful day?" Mia's lips curled into a beautiful smile as she approached him elegantly, her hands clasped together in front of her. Fernando scoffed at first, but then he glanced over at her and his eyebrows rose. "The day is bleak, it's much too early to be out of bed...mother insisted though. You are looking quite nice." He stood up a little straighter as if he could look impressive somehow. Mia ignored his comment about the morning and simply continued polite as ever, "I was just about to head out to market and fetch some water." Her eyes darted down to the buckets at his feet and back up as if she were asking for his assistance. At first Fernando appeared to look confused, but as the idea dawned on him, he quickly snatched up the buckets and handed them to her. "Oh. Yes. That... of course." He grumbled. Then as she reached to take them from him he continued, "I could accompany you to the market if you wish." A cheesy grin spread across his face not hiding at all how clever he thought himself. This was not something Mia wanted to deal with this morning so she took the buckets and began to walk backwards. As she walked she hurriedly came up with excuses. "Oh...no Fernando... I would not dream of troubling you with this. You look exhausted still, get some more rest instead. I will be back in a little while." Mia hurried away down the cobblestone road before Fernando could argue. Instead he simply shrugged his shoulders and headed back inside the bakery. "I should get some more sleep," He mumbled to himself. 8:00am Mia had returned from market with her water pails full. She had happily delivered them to the Baker before running off to her other job across town. When she had begun to understand the baker's wife's intentions she had immediately looked for another job. If she could muster up enough money to pay her landlord's rent, then she wouldn't feel as bad turning down Fernando's proposal. She now stood outside her second job. Carved into the front door of the large home was the name Strozzi. Mia stood outside and looked over the facade of the estate. It was massive to her, the gorgeous architecture was breathtaking. She took a step towards the main door but stopped when she heard someone call her to the right. Mia turned to see a woman poking out of a side door to the estate. "Girl are you crazy? The help does not walk in through the front door! Come here!" Mia looked back at the front entry way and then quickly walked over to the side where the other woman stood. The woman moved so the Mia could walk inside and as she did the door was gently closed behind her. "What is your name child?" " Marite Magdelinna Lanza...ma'am..." She gave a little bow, but the woman didn't wait before speaking. "Ah, yes yes. This way, we needed new staff to deal with the sick girl." "Sick?" Mia questioned. "Yes, sick. Miss Aurelia Strozzi has grown quite ill. Poor thing. The Condottiero didn't want to risk any of his trusted staff getting sick so we will be needing your assistance until she passes." This news didn't make Mia feel very well at all. Only a couple months ago she had watched her own mother go through the same thing. At least she knew what to expect. They walked through the tiny hallways and up a couple flights of stairs. Then they passed through doors which lead into a much wider and grand hallway. The woman closed the door behind Mia. Mia now understood that the confined web of hallways and stairs that they had been walking in previously were the servant's chambers. This area must be the actual estate. As they walked down to the far room Mia was entranced by the suits of armor and wonderful paintings that adorned the wall. "This is Miss Aurelia's room." The woman shoved some fresh sheets she had been carrying into Mia's arms. "Change her bed, empty her chamber pot, fix it up nice, and keep the sweet thing company. If you need me I'll be back down in the hidden areas." Mia nodded and squeaked out a meek, "alright" before she was left by herself. She then entered the room. The overall feeling in the air was just depressing. Aurelia lay in bed with the sheets pulled up high. Her skin was tinted a bit green and her lips looked icy. The girls jet black hair was strewn all about untidy and beads of sweat trailed down her forehead. Mia noted how similar she looked to her mother. It wouldn't be long now, only a matter of days. There were two other people in the room, but Mia thought it best to immediately tend to her duties. She placed the clean sheets down and began to clean the room. One was a man, probably in his late forties. Despite his age he appeared to be very strong, tall, and fit. His grey hair only made him appear more respectable. His features were dark and sharp. He glanced over at Mia, but then continued his conversation as if she didn't exist. "As you can see the situation is quite unfortunate." His voice boomed out to the woman who stood by Aurelia's bed. Mia noted her immaculate beauty. She had raven black hair that matched the sick girl beneath her, but her's was pulled back into a tight bun. She wore a gown made of swan's feathers atop her golden skin. Her eyes stared down at her sister drowning in sadness. "Have you contacted the doctor I told you of... the Sicilian?" She questioned and looked back at her father. "Yes, but he won't be able to get here in time. She will be gone by the end of the week." His reply was cold, almost irritated. The woman reached her hand out a few inches from Aurelia's face. "NO!" The Condottiero's voice commanded and the woman retracted her hand quickly looking back at him. "It's already a tragedy that I won't be able to set up a proper suitor for your sister at the Masquerade the Medici's are hosting tonight. I don't need you getting sick as well. You've already proven to be barren to your husband, so many disappointments Octavia." She didn't seem mad or upset by his words, instead she coolly replied, "Perhaps he is the one who is sterile. I haven't heard of any whispers about his whores producing a child." This brought a smile to her father's face. "Yes, well, I assume you would have that taken care of even if you had heard a rumor." Octavia returned the smile. "Father, you presume too much." Octavia then sauntered over to a gorgeous silver gown that was hanging by the dresser. Mia looked up and momentarily stopped cleaning. The Condottiero spoke once again before Octavia had a chance to touch the gown. "Your sister tried it on...so it's most likely infected. Such a shame, it cost me a small fortune." His cold eyes then looked to Mia. "Girl, take this gown to the garbage heap. Have it burned." Mia looked shocked as if he had just asked her to jump out the window. The Condottiero's face looked even more unpleasant than before now. "Can you hear me or are you daft? I said take the gown and leave!" "Yes sir, of course!" Mia replied and grabbed the gown before quickly retreating from of the room.

The Renaissance was a rebirth that occurred throughout most of Europe. However, the changes that we associate with the Renaissance first occurred in the Italian city of Florence and continued to be more pervasive there than anywhere else. The city's economy and its writers, painters, architects, and philosophers all made Florence a model of Renaissance culture. Fifteenth century Florence was an exciting place to be. In 1450 the city had a population of 60,000 and was a self-governed, independent city-state. Twelve artist guilds that regulated the trades were the basis of Florence's commercial success. Members of the guilds, who were wealthy and held positions in government, were some of Florence's most influential people in society and politics. Because of its strong economy and a political philosophy that was dedicated to the welfare of the city, Florence thrived. Due in no small part to the House of Medici. The Medici were a banking family with a long political dynasty with considerable influence that grew throughout the fifteenth century. The family gained prominence under Cosimo di Giovanni de' Medici and became the de facto rulers of Florence, controlling the city from behind the scenes. As their notoriety grew, so too did the great care they took with their secrets, which were very dark indeed. There were many tales surrounding the City of Florence and the great House of Medici, and many more that were strategically stricken from the history books. For the most interesting tales are found in the darkness, and behind closed doors. A great dynasty was born in the heart of Florence, but it was not the Medici. Like all great stories it begins with the chance meeting of a man and a woman, a couple who were completely unaware of the catalyst that was their first meeting, and how on that night their actions would lead to the rise of an empire like no other. Dark creatures walk among us. The talk with us, laugh with us and even love with us, but they are not the same. There are predators that roam the night, and we are their prey. The Midnight Court Profile Name: Raphael D'Antonio Age: 47 (32 when turned) Appearance: Personality: Raphael is a free-spirited individual who likes to think he wears a mask in front of most people. When performing for the nobility he is charming, polite and courteous. He appears to be quite wise compared to how he physically looks. Away from the social pleasantries of high society however, he is a man who cares little for titles and nobility. Somewhat arrogantly, he considers himself a new breed who is superior to the masses. He accepts his predatory instincts and makes a point to feed his hunger, but does not do so wastefully. As a young vampire he has yet to face the more horrible aspects of the life, and as such he can be quite impulsive and quick to act. Biography: When Raphael was a young boy he lived in poverty. The only thing he could truly do well was play violin. His mother died when he was a baby, and in his teens his father passed away leaving him alone and incapable of fending for himself. He was fortunately taken in by a Hungarian noble family who enjoyed his music. The family cared for him and he grew accustomed to the life of a nobleman. He lived with them in Hungary for many years, until in his early 30's. He awoke one night to screaming, and found that the family home was under attack by gruesome monsters. He watched as they butchered the family who had taken him in, and then they finally turned their teeth on him. He remembers little of the horrors they inflicted on him, but he awoke a few days later, among the corpses of his adoptive family. From that day onward he found that he had become stronger and faster. His wounds healed rapidly, and he did not age even a single day more. As the days went by, however, he found it increasingly unbearable to be out in the sun, until the day that it's touch on his skin would burn like acid. What's more while his senses were stronger, and food and wine became far more enjoyable, they did not quell his hunger. In time he realised that he was no longer human, that he was something else. The men and women around him had became his prey, and their blood the only food he required. As he embraced his new life, he found new powers emerging to him. He could persuade all men and women to love him, and equally could make them ignore him if he so chose. Using this to his advantage he returned to Italy and travelled the country as a successful musician, playing for the nobility every evening, earning coin, and then picking off the most desirable from the herd so he could dine. Soon he made his way to Florence, to play at a grand Masquerade held for the nobility. Little did he know he would discover in this place that he was not alone in his gift, and that he would turn another. What's more he had not yet discovered that his gift was, perhaps, a curse.

Nestled within the hills and valley of northern Rhaegal, where the air was warm and the earth dry but still bountiful with fresh grass and green leafed trees, the city of Amerus stood proudly. Constructed in the shape of a large hexagon, the edge entirely surrounded by defensive walls of grey stone, Amerus was a small city holding only a few thousand people. A large cobbled crossroad stretched through the centre of Amerus, each road converging on to the large Cathedral in the centre. The houses were constructed of sandstone with dark wooden lining, with grey slate tiled roofs, thick with moss that had collected over the years. While the houses were homely they were also quite old, apparent in the cracked wood and split stone. Most of the homes were built tightly together, leaving a labyrinth of tight, off from the roads. Around the Cathedral the space between each building grew, eventually opening out on to a large courtyard where market stalls were positioned in between small patches of garden, where children played. Many people gathered outside of the large Cathedral, a house of worship for those that followed The Light, long considered the force of all goodness in the world, symbolised as a brilliant shining sun. On the surface the day seemed much like any other. Merchants sold their wares, children played, housekeepers cleaned and cooked. The wealthy walked freely, purchasing fine silks, garments, delicious cakes and the odd trinket or two, as is their want. And yet across from the Cathedral was the Keep, a strong building of grey stone, and stood atop it a man in silver plated armour, a sword sheathed at his side and a white tabard with a symbol of the golden sun across his chest. His shoulder length brown hair blew in the warm breeze as Lord Michael Dumont looked down on his people with worry. He was a man in his late 30s, somewhat young for a Lord, but like any he had been chosen for the role by the King himself. Granted Amerus was one of the smallest cities of Rhaegal, but it was clean and the people were mostly happy. Mostly. His mind was rattled with the rumours and reports that had come flooding in. Entire stretches of farmland scorched to ash. The farmers and their families, nowhere to be seen. Already their livestock for the region was dwindling, and now something like this? He didnâ€™t dare speak itâ€™s name. Fortune would soon smile upon Amerus once more, the King had saw to that. It was for this reason that Lord Dumont was nervous. His wandering mind was suddenly brought back to reality at the raw rattling of brass horns. He turned to the Eastern gate where the sound was coming from. The Guards along the wall had spotted someone approaching the city walls. No doubt it was them. He adjusted his tabard and walked swiftly inside the Keep. The armour was mostly a display for his approaching guests, it was important that he cut an imposing figure. As he descended the stone steps of the torch lit keep her heard the distant rumbling. As expected, they had come in force. Lord Dumont made his way through the corridors of the Keep before finally emerging once more in to the light and on to the courtyard, where his citizens had began to form a crowd, huddling together to clear a path. He looked down the road and finally laid eyes on his guests. Padding along the cobblestone road, causing fearful gasps from watching citizens, came enormous wolves the height of horses, each of them shades of grey, brown and black. Atop these large, saddled beasts, were imposing men and women. Each of them was muscular, and dressed in crimson leathers and tunics, with fur lined collars and white trousers. Some wore scarves and bandanas around their head and face, while others had long, flowing hair. Most notably though was there olive skin, their hardened expressions, and their pointed ears. Lord Dumont stood at the top of the steps to his keep, folding his arms, trying to maintain a calm composure. The riders gathered in the large space outside the Keep, whilst a lone grey wolf stepped ahead of them, itâ€™s rider a tall, strong man with long blonde hair, tied back in thick braids that lay down his back. A strange dark stone piercing hung on his left lobe, and dark spikes were pierced along the bridge of his nose. The man stepped down from the beast and ran his hand through itâ€™s fur for a moment. The guards approached him tentatively, and the man frowned, sensing their apprehension. â€œWhatâ€™s the matter, men? Have you never seen a Worg before?â€ he asked firmly, inferring to the large grey wolf behind him. â€œDonâ€™t worry. Maugrim here doesnâ€™t much like the taste of man flesh, too much iron in your diet. Heâ€™ll have a bit of chicken if youâ€™re offering though.â€ â€œUhâ€¦quite.â€ One of the guards replied. â€œWill they be needing stables?â€ â€œNot unless you think it necessary.â€ The sharp eared man replied. â€œThey donâ€™t like being cooped up for too long. If itâ€™s all the same theyâ€™ll be much happier right here.â€ â€œMy only concern is, well, the people of the town might find itâ€¦â€ â€œEnough.â€ Lord Dumont spoke as he descended the stairs. â€œOur Guests have travelled a long way to help us. Iâ€™m sure they are in need of food, and the same for theirâ€¦Worgs.â€ â€œBest listen to your master.â€ The sharp eared man said with a wry grin, exposing a pair of sharp canines. Lord Dumont noted that this man was quite extraordinary even among his own race. For all intents and purposes he was but a man, but there was something wild and unyielding about his nature that reminded one of a beast, no different to the creature he rode on. â€œYou must be the hunters from Agrines.â€ Lord Dumont said. â€œI am Michael Dumont, Lord of Amerus, Paladin of the Light, Ordained servant to the King of Rhaegal. I am pleased to meet your acquaintance.â€ â€œRight then, thatâ€™s a lot of title youâ€™ve got.â€ The Agrinian replied. â€œI suppose in that case I am Krios Hakar, Lord of fuck all and servant to no one, and Iâ€™ll be very pleased to meet you once you show me that dinner you mentioned.â€ â€œIndeedâ€¦â€ Lord Dumont said with a wearied sigh. â€œWill your men be joining us in the keep?â€ â€œIâ€™ll save them the boredom.â€ Krios replied. â€œWe donâ€™t get nice days like this in Agrines. This is practically a vacation, Iâ€™m sure theyâ€™d rather sit out and enjoy the weather. If you put out some food and water, wine if youâ€™re feeling generous. Theyâ€™ll be more than happy with that.â€ â€œVery well. In that case we can continue this conversation indoors if you donâ€™t mind.â€ Lord Dumont said finally, motioning back towards the keep. Krios gave a short nod and followed the Lord in to the Keep. They walked in silence through the main corridor, and finally came to a dining hall, with food and wine waiting for them. Without waiting Krios unclipped the sheathed bastard sword from his belt and placed it on the table with a thud, before finding himself a chair and sitting in it. Spotting a whole roast chicken he picked it up with his bare hands, taking a bite out of it and chomping the meat down, chasing it with a healthy gulp of wine. Lord Dumont began to remove his plate armour, revealing a finely tailored tunic underneath. He sat opposite his guest, trying not to roll his eyes at the barbaric eating habits displayed before him. â€œI counted twenty in your party. Is such a large group of you necessary?â€ Dumont asked. â€œHa!â€ Krios spat through a mouthful of chicken. â€œWe could have done with a few more if Iâ€™m honest. Iâ€™m afraid you got the short straw on that one. I reckon you donâ€™t know Agron Rakfang personally, but Iâ€™ll tell you in no uncertain terms, he doesnâ€™t care much for taking orders. Especially from a King heâ€™s sworn no allegiance to.â€ â€œThe summons was merely protocol.â€ Dumont replied defensively. â€œNo disrespect was meant, we sincerely require your aid.â€ â€œI bet you do.â€ Krios said with a nod. â€œThing is we have our own mess to sort out. The only reason you got any men is because we never turn down a hunt. Donâ€™t you worry though, my company will take care of that dragon.â€ Dumont winced at the sound of the word, a fact that Krios seemed to find quite amusing. â€œWhat? Itâ€™s not going to burst through the wall just because you said itâ€™s name.â€ â€œIt is a sore subject.â€ Dumont replied. â€œSuch a thing hasâ€¦never happened before. I worry for my people. I fear we are not prepared to face such a creature. I myself have seen what these creatures can do. In a march through Moraigh my men and I encountered a wyvern, nasty creatures.â€ Dumont comment was only met by a soft chuckling. Krios looked genuinally amused, as if Dumont has told a particularly good joke. Slowly his chuckle took the form of a hearty laugh, and Krios banged his fist on the table as if this was a method to stop the involuntary mirth. â€œIâ€™m sorryâ€¦what do you find so funny?â€ Dumont asked. â€œWellâ€¦a wyvern? How big are they down there? 20ft long? Not exactly big buggers are they?â€ Krios grinned. â€œPlus they donâ€™t have the strong front legs like a Dragon.â€ Krios looked at Dumont with an almost sinister glare, his greyish blue eyes lit up under the torches. â€œA dragon will easily grow to 60ft long. And if size doesnâ€™t scare you, thereâ€™s plenty more to be fearful of. The gust kicked up from their wings can knock a man clean off the floor, their scales are harder than that shiny armour youâ€™ve got. Theyâ€™ll sniff you out with no trouble and track you for miles on end, for days and weeks if they feel the needâ€¦â€ Dumont swallowed hard as he tried to picture this creature descending on Amerus. If Krios spoke truth, then this creature could bring the city to rubble. â€œBut you lot face them all the time, right? They can be beaten.â€ â€œTrue enough.â€ Krios added. â€œBut itâ€™s no easy task. There is no greater challenge than a dragon hunt. Their smart too, one wrong move and the whole plan falls apart. We have to track them for weeks, learn their flight patterns, their routines. Before we even think of moving out we have to pinpoint the right moment to launch an assault. Everything matters. The time of day, location, the direction of the wind. If itâ€™s not just right then it can go south very quickly.â€ â€œThis is troubling.â€ Dumont replied, massaging his temples as he spoke. â€œOur Scouts have spotted this creature only 2 days away at the most. Itâ€™s moving through the mountains, flying high and out of sight.â€ â€œSound about right.â€ Krios nodded. â€œThis is new territory. Dragons donâ€™t come down this way, and a good thing too. This land is ripe for the picking. The beast will keep the high ground, way out of sight. Their eyesight isnâ€™t the best up close, but they can see for miles ahead. Theyâ€™ll find their preyâ€¦then theyâ€™ll dive, clinging to the valleys. The first fly over theyâ€™ll scan their mark, second fly over their shoot white hot flames, scorch the land and burn any threats to ash.â€ â€œSo they donâ€™t eat men?â€ Dumont asked â€œNot if they have a choice. They prefer livestock, pigs and cows mostly.â€ Krios said before pausing to drain his goblet of wine. â€œMost of the time theyâ€™ll just torch the lot of us. And itâ€™s nothing like the fire that warms your homes at night. They ignite a liquid fuel they build up in glands in their neck. It clings to your skin, tears through flesh like butter and turns your bones to ash.â€ â€œThis does not inspire confidence.â€ Dumont looked worriedly at his guest. â€œI assume you have a plan?â€ â€œOf sorts.â€ Krios admitted. â€œWe donâ€™t know these lands. My men will ride out at dawn and take stock of the surroundings. Iâ€™ll have a better idea of what to do at that point. We wouldnâ€™t say no to more able hunters though. If you can find any who can stomach it theyâ€™d be welcome.â€ â€œIâ€™ll look in to it.â€ Dumont said with a nod. â€œAt the very least you have my help.â€ â€œNot afraid to get your hands dirty, I like it.â€ Krios grinned. â€œIn that case there is one more thing you will need to sort out for me. Gather all of our meat, alive or dead.â€ â€œWhat for?â€ Dumont asked. â€œIf I find a good spot, weâ€™ll lure the dragon there. If thereâ€™s no meat left in the city, thereâ€™s a chance the dragon will leave you be. If we take all the livestock and meat reserves the dragon will catch itâ€™s scent and track us, that way your people are safe.â€ â€œBut without meat all we have is grain and vegetables. People will grow weak, and get sick. It will take us years to recover that amount of livestock. You cannot be serious.â€ â€œPut it this way, Dumont.â€ Krios said finally. â€œIf you keep the meat inside Amerus, youâ€™ll have no people left to worry over.â€

Algaia http://i.imgur.com/7bmM82h.jpg <----------- MAP! Algaia is a land steeped in rich history. The sprawling continent is filled with life and magic oozes out of every crevasse. There is everything from the wondrous to the mundane. Aside from the intelligent races who rule the lands, there are many more interesting creatures. Goblins, Trolls, Fairies, Kobolds, Worgs and even the Undead. Yet none of these creatures is more amazing and yet terrifying as the Dragon. It has been thousands of years since any Dragons have reached the lands of Rhaegal, with only a sparse group of Fire Dragons in Agrines, and the Frost Dragons of Jogrund ever being seen at this time. Worry is beginning to wash over Rhaegal and the King has sent a request for help from the Dragon Hunters of Agrines. Scorched farmlands and people and livestock going missing. Whispers speak of a black winged devil soaring through the skies. After all this time, Dragons have come to Rhaegal, and no doubt this is the result of something far more dark and nefariousâ€¦ Raeghal The Legacy of Man details the history of the race known as Humans. The great tome tells tales stretching back over 5â€™000 years. In their earliest days, the Human folk drifted across The Eversea from lands untold and found themselves upon the shores of Algaia. It was not long before they met with the natives of this land, The Elven. These mysterious figures were long lived and beautiful, and they enchanted humanity with their gifted magical abilities. However the Elven too were infatuated with these simple folk, who were strong and capable without the use of magic. In their Hubris they sought to see if the Human folk could learn magic as they did. Indeed with years of training, few Humans emerged with the gift. It was then that the Elven folk learned of Humanityâ€™s great power and resolve. Despite their weakness, the many faults, the humans accomplished much, and did so quickly. Before long the Humans grew in number, their people now rivalling the population of the Elves. Resources and territory became scarce and bickering soon turned to fighting. A great war broke out among the two allied peoples. After years of bloodshed, despite their gifts, the Elven were pushed back by the now bloated and bloodthirsty hordes of men. Some of the Elven fled North to the barren lands that bordered the Furia, whilst other traversed South to seek aid from the shamanic Orcs of Jogrund. The largest and most hospitable lands became the territory of the Human folk, and they all but eradicated any signs of the Elven who had lived there before them. They erected Towns, and Cities, and the once proud Capitol of the Elvish Territories was taken, and renamed Midas. As the centuries passed, discord grew even amongst the Humans alone, and soon they fought wars with one another. Towards the end it seemed they would be doomed to wipe each other out, if it were not for one man. Ithenral Sunborn was a great and powerful Paladin Knight, one who commanded the Light of the world to spur on his holy crusade. Through determination and force he united the Human people once more. Ithenral declared himself the King of Men, and named their lands Rhaegal, and sat his throne in the great city of Midas. His family have ruled ever since, all the way to our storyâ€™s beginning. Raeghal is the largest and most prestigious Kingdom in Algaia. The King of Men, Isaac Sunborn, saw to that as he finished the work of his forefathers, crusading across the land and dominating all who opposed him. However in times of relative peace, Raeghal is a multi-cultural land, the various towns and keeps ruled over by Lords, chosen by King Isaac himself to keep his people in line. There is now a tentative peace between the humans of Rhaegal, and the Dwarven, The Agrinians, the Alfar, and even the Orcs. The Kingdom enjoys the comfort of a balanced climate, creating plenty of hospitable lands for farmers to reap their bounty. Animals flourish in the woodlands and game is aplenty. The people also live in relative safety, the most terrifying of creatures, the Dragons, have not traversed to the lower lands of Raeghal in over 5000 years. Raeghal is a land of birthright. A family's position in the social hierarchy is very important, and it is common for those of peasant families to be subjected to lives of servitude, slavery and prostitution. Foreigners can make a living as merchants, sellswords or tradesman, as long as they have the skills or goods to make it happen. The Capitol city is Midas. Agrines The ultimate result of the great war between the Humans and the Elven led to the latter fleeing their lands. A large group of Elves who fought in the front lines ran for the North, into the dry and barren lands that eventually became known as Agrines. Even as the Humans fell back the Elves pushed forward, bravely led by an Elf named Shaugr. Even when the Elven warrior fell from aging wounds, his resting place eventually became a great city that shared his name. Eventually the Elves went further North, until they felt not human would dare follow. They settled and stayed within the dry lands that were now there home, and vowed to one day have revenge on the humans who had slighted them. In order to survive in such a dangerous environment, the Elves began to change within each generation. So attuned to magic, the Elven folk were magical creatures themselves, and they would change and adapt very quickly when pressed. Over time the androgynous, beautiful people became strong, olive skinned, and grizzled. All but a select few abandoned the arcane ways of their ancestors, and instead lay trust in steel. They observed the creatures of the land, and learned to hunt from them. Losing touch with their magical heritage also lost them their long lifespan, and yet they prospered in their own way. Then came the emergence of a foe far greater than any Human. From the sharp, treacherous mountains which lead to lands known as Furia, the Fire Dragons came. The decimated all that lay in their wake, leaving only ash and sulphur behind. However these Elves were no longer the people they had once been, they were hunters, predators. They were Agrinians, and they had found a hunt far greater than any remnant thoughts of revenge against humans. Agrines is a dry land with a warm climate, covering large valleys and mountains. The land is more barren than Raeghal but there is still bounty to be had. Agrinian men are strong in body and mind. Lead by their Huntmaster of the North, Agron Rakfang, the men of Agrines are a warrior people. They are men of honour who settle their feuds on the battlefield. Despite their formidable strength, they have never declared outright war on Raeghal, and at the moment the two lands share a time of relative peace. However the people of Agrines are not as soft as their lowland cousins, the Alfar, and build large fortresses of stone and steel. It is rare to see one who practices magic in Agrines, but normally it is dark energy that is manifest in their sorcerers, used for dangerous blood rituals and rune enchantments. Academics are not sought after in Agrines. Agrinians favour the great minds of tacticians and warlords over such studies as alchemy, the arts and history. In Agrines the victor writes the history books, and that is how it has always been. Agrinians do not follow the ritual of marriage. They still cherish the bonds of love, and when two Agrinians share such a bond they perform their own ritual, consisting of a hunt, and then a fight, before fucking and feasting with their brothers and sisters. Agrinians refer to their significant other as their Bondmate. They care very little for sexuality, and see no difference between a man loving a man, or a man loving a woman. Equally it is not uncommon for Bondmates to spend months and even years apart from one another. While they cherish their time together, they also value their freedom to explore. Additionally in their culture sex is not considered as something shared between two lovers, and having sex with anyone is considered akin to scratching an itch, or relieving stress. The Capitol of Agrines is Blutgard. Moraigh It is difficult to tell when the Dwarven folk first emerged in Algaia. Legends say that the Dwarves were once creatures of stone that lived in the caverns below the earth. Short and stout, the Dwarves are a hardy lot. Unable to use magic they rely on their wits and strength to get by. They have shown themselves to be skilled warriors and smiths, as well as being proficient miners and engineers. Although they hold no magical ability, it is said that a Dwarf can never be tempted by magic. Like the stone from whence they came they are sturdy and unfaltering, unable to fall victim to the illusions and mesmers conjured by a mage. Moraigh is a rocky, mountainous region that enjoys cooler temperatures than those up north. The land is littered with caverns and catacombs, as well as a series of mines, excavated by the Dwarven people. The Dwarves have bent knee to the Hammerfist Clan for hundreds of years. The current Dwarven King is Duncan Hammerfist, a fierce and formidable warrior, and a loved and respected leader. The Dwarves are master craftsmen. Due to this the Dwarves are on the brink of their industrial age, using engineering, coal and steam to build wonderous cities, weapons and armour. Their Capitol, Sanctuary, is a testament to their great craftsmanship. The great underground city of the Dwarves is perhaps the oldest of any settlement. It has served as their fortress for over 1'000 years and has grown considerably from it's incarnation. Sanctuary is the most valuable treasure to the Dwarven people, and is virtually impenetrable to those not welcome, as it is entirely underground, except for the main gates, which are too enormous and heavy for any force to move, other than with the magic of their own engineering. Kotaer Just as the ancient Elves fled North and became the Agrinians, another band fled South. These Elves sought sanctuary in the twisted woodlands between the Dwarven land of Moraigh and the Forzen Tundra of the Orcs, Jogrund. Unlike their northern cousins, the Elves of Kotaer grew bitter with their defeat. They vowed to secret themselves away from the other races, keeping their magical knowledge a close to their chest. Perhaps out of remnant pride, they renamed themselves the Alfar, the name given to their most ancient ancestors. Truly the Alfar are the most gifted and diverse magic users. Their deep understanding of nature has allowed them to practice various forms of magic bending all to their will. The Elements, The Light, The Dark, nothing is taboo. Their complex understanding of the cruel nature of their world allows them to manifest great and terrible power. Few but the Alfar have ever traversed through Kotaer, and their society is a complete mystery. It is said that their capitol is Fairun, but this cannot be confirmed. The only settlement known to outsiders is the small outpost village on the outskirts of their lands known as Whisper. Much like their Eleven ancestors, the Alfar are incredibly long lived, easily living up to 1â€™000 years old or more. They are, despite this, few in number. Many presume this a decision lead by their desire to stay hidden along with their secrets. Jogrund In the far south resides the cold land of Jogrund. Few dare to challenge the Ice Desert, where many a man has perished, and fewer still wish to move around it and through the lands of Kotaer. However beyond the flats only worse trials await. Between the violent blizzards and the sub zero temperatures that fall at night, there is yet more to fear of this ancient land. One of the last regions where Dragons are seen, and known to thrive. The Frost Dragons of Jogrund live on the mountain known as Drekfjall. However they are not the only inhabitants. There are also the Orcish people who coexist with the Dragons, living in the land around Drekfjall. The Orcs stand as tall as men, but far wider and more muscular, even the females. Their skin tones can be anything from green, to olive, yellow and grey. Their teeth are overgrown and often their canines grow over their lips. They are not as fearsome as they appear, but they are indeed fearsome. The Orcs live in a harsh landscape and admire strength and courage. They are a deeply spiritual and wise race, who frown upon complacence and excuses. It is this survivalist attitude that has earned them the mutual respect of the Frost Dragons with which they share their home. The Orcs are practitioners of Shamanism. Unlike the Alfar, and indeed the Humans, they have a deep connection with the elements of the world, and seek only to borrow the power in exchange for service and ritual. In the eyes of many the Orcish magic is considered the most pure. However the Orcs are a strong and wise race, who do not suffer fools gladly. Coexisting in such a harsh landscape with the Frost Dragons is no easy task, the Orcs know that the Dragons deserve the highest degree of respect, and it is always best to tread lightly when around them. Those who jeopardize the Orcish way of life will be quick to fall to their axe. Bolero is the largest Orc settlement where many of their tribes gather. Aside from this the only notable landmark important to the Orcs is Kjolnas. The sacred land of the Orcish people. Kjolnas is a temple cavern formed out of the ice. It is said that the heart of the world resides within Kjolnas. Few orcs may enter, and never has any other race been allowed inside. The Orcs have no ruler or King, however each Tribe does have a Chieftain, a teacher and guide who endeavours to keep the Tribe from danger. Orcs are neither fearful nor suspicious of outsiders, nor are they cautious. They trust the spirits within the elements, and feel that the earth itself is on their side. The Furia Little is known of Furia. The land is far North, through Agrines. The foreign land is considered uninhabitable, and nary a soul ventures in to the land and returns. The only sign of life that ever comes from The Furia is the Fire Dragons that occasionally descend in to Agrines to hunt. Their attacks have been growing more frequent of late. Important People/Places/Terms Blutgard â€“ The Capitol of Agrines is a vast and sprawling city, full or merchants, craftsmen and warriors. The city was originally built on top of a mountain of the same name, but has since sprawled outwards, with the mountain serving as it's centrepiece. Midas â€“ Built inside a great valley. Midas is a regal city consisting of many large towers, and houses it's citizens in segregated areas, with only the most Regal of families being allowed to reside within the walls of the King's Quarter. Magic - Magic is both well known and yet mysterious. Keep your eyes open in a city for more than 5 minutes and you will have no doubt witnessed one of the many parlour tricks performed by magicians and street performers. However real magic is something that takes a lifetime to master. The secrets of magic are rare and unyielding to the dull of mind. But for those who show promise, there are endless possibilities. Magic is a force that holds no council with the morals of men, it is absolute in it's power. However the hearts of men are not so subjective, and the magic they wield can take the form of light, and also darkness. Okay so fantasy rp. Private rp, invite only. My character is below: Name: Krios Hakar Age:36 Appearance: i.imgur.com/j4FjxEq.jpg Personality: Fierce and quick to anger, but maintains a great deal of discipline. Krios is a an excellent judge of character but holds little interest in socialising. A born and raised Warrior and Hunter, he lives for the Hunt. Proud to a fault and often dismissive and cocky. Bio: Krios is the first born son of Jotur Hakar, a renowned warrior in his home land of Agrines. He hails from Cambra but in his 27 years on this earth he has been well travelled within Agrines. As a young man he served as a Bloode Scale, warriors who defend the fortress city of Tiern, the first line of defence against the Fire Dragons who come in from The Furia. His term was brief compared to many others, and while he saw actions he considers his time there to have been quieter than most. Krios emerged from the Blood Ritual required of all Blood Scales. The ritual is one of the few forms of magic left to his people. As a result of the Blood Ritual Krios has had his inner beast awakened. As such he has a great connection to beast creatures and understands their ways. Like many of his people he has tamed one of the giant wolf beasts that roam Agrines, the Worgs, and has taken one as his mount. After slaying his first Fire Dragon Krios was gifted the creature as is tradition. He shared in itâ€™s meat, and used itâ€™s scaled to have a bastard sword forged with strong metals to create a Dragonsteel blade. Combined with the runic enchantments of his people, the sword, named Skuldrom, is virtually unbreakable, and will never lose itâ€™s edge. Krios now leads a Company of Hunters, tasked with travelling to Rhaegal to slay a rogue dragon that has managed to slip through Agrines.

These vast lands in which we live are steeped in horrors. If there are lands beyond then no one has seen them, and so we survive in this world which is all we know. We, the creatures known as human, are a great and terrible race. Power is the driving force that fuels us all, and in the quest for power there are those who will do anything to come out on top. When powerful men seek to take power from one another they amass their followers and engage in the gruesome art of war. For countless years our soil has been stained with blood. Our senseless violence could not go on without punishment. Vicious monsters known as Akuma crawled up from the earths, and once noble spirits became cruel tricksters who would lead brave men to their doom. We, the creatures known as human, bathed the world in blood, and gave birth to the horrors which seek to carry as to our end. If we were to survive, the wars would have to stop. And so humanity became united, together we would fend off the evils we had wrought. The Lords allied and an age of tentative peace came. However we cannot exact change quite so easily. Greedy men will always lust for power, and so leaders must fall so new ones can arise. All out warfare was a sure end for all, and so humanity became cunning and deceitful. To slay a beast one must simply cut off itâ€™s head. Single men and women were taught to become the shadows, to move with the wind, to become death itself. In time a word was made for them. Shinobi. The Shinobi were undoubtedly the deadliest forces of their kind. For years the ancient Shinobi families trained and honed their talents, holding great and terrible secrets to achieve power. Whispers speak of men who made pacts with the fearsome Akuma that plagued this world, and inherited the power of monsters. Others stole the power of the spirits. Many more Shinobi gained dark and mysterious powers to aid their mission, their methods a secret known only by select few. A collective term was coined for these strange abilities: Ninjutsu. Glossary of Terms Shinobi â€“ Masters of stealth, deception and assassination. Shinobi serve either a Lord or they work for coin. Some Shinobi are lone operatives while others work in groups. Generally the strongest Shinobi come from noble clans who have passed down their secrets through generations. However there are notable exceptions, such as the Ookami no Metsuki who are five lone Shinobi who have become legend. Ninjutsu â€“ The secret arts of the Shinobi. Each Shinobi clan has itâ€™s own secret techniques that are known only to those within the clan. These techniques are varied and difficult to define, as each is truly unique in its ability and the method in which it is manifested. For example some Shinobi have developed abilities through generations of study and meditation, to achieve enlightened gifts. Others have perhaps stolen their gifts from the magical creatures or Akuma they have come across, or they may even have a pact with a creature to provide the ability. Additionally Shinobi clans create the illusion of magic through the use of science to accomplish seemingly impossible feats. Fuinjutsu â€“ Unlike Ninjutsu, the art of seasling techniques are commonly known among Shinobi, and even certain members of the military, and some Lords. Sealing techniques are usually very simple in their effects but are rarely able to be undone. The most commonly seen Fuinjutsu is a seal branded across the throat of a person. This seal silences that person from talking about particular information. Such techniques a large reason as to why many Shinobi clans have kept their secrets safe. There are sometimes ways to overcome these seals, for example, the seal mentioned may physically stop a user from speaking, but they could perhaps lead someone to the source of the secret, or they could simply write it down. Typically informants are required to have two sealing marks. One on their throat preventing them from speaking the secret, and another on their hands preventing them from writing the secret down. Dojutsu â€“ A particular brand of Ninjutsu that involves techniques involving the users eyes. It is said that each of the Ookami no Metsuki hold such abilities. Akuma â€“ Demons or monsters. They are said to have appeared in ancient times as a consequence of the bloody wars of our ancestors. Many Akuma are violent and unintelligent, but some are incredibly wise and capable of human speech. Their goals and intentions can vary but it is generally accepted that whatever they are doing, it is invariably nefarious and evil. Spirits & Magical Creatures â€“ Many kinds of spirits and strange mystical creatures are scattered across the land. While not all evil most are wary of humans and can be quick to anger. It is important to tread carefully around such beings, as to insult them could result in a quick death. Ookami no Metsuki â€“ Legends speak of 5 lone Shinobi who operate separately from one another, but are connected through the use of strange Dojutsu. Their collective title means â€œEyes of the Wolfâ€. Each of these Shinobi are considered incredibly dangerous. My Profile Name: Jin, Age: 28 Appearance: Long black hair that is tied back in a ponytail. Jin is of a thin, athletic build and stands at around 6ft tall. He wears tight fitting black clothing, with pouches attached to his belt and long black, fingerless gloves with metallic plates over his forearms. His sandals are fitted like boots, with short metallic hooks at his toe to help him with climbing. He wears a dark blue scarf that he normall wraps around the lower half of his face. His skin is pale and his eyes are a dull blueish grey. Personality: Calm, focused and to the point. At times Jin can seem entirely without personality but has moments where he shows great depth. He is deeply introspective and keeps most of his thoughts to himself, making him seem quite cold and mysterious. Biography: Jin is a mercenary Shinobi that travels from town to town picking up specialist work that average Shinobi canâ€™t handle. He speaks little of his past but itâ€™s likely that Jin is not his birth name. His capability as a Shinobi suggests that he has been trained since an early point in his life, and he shows first hand knowledge of the complexities involved in the feudal regime and the behaviours of nobility. Other than earning his living Jin shows little drive for anything. His minimalist nature leaves him little desire to indulge in pleasures, spending his time either working, or preparing for his next job. While he lacks passion he is dedicated to his craft, speaking only when there is need to speak. Many believe he views his life as a Shinobi as nothing more than a job, but for those who watch and listen well, it is clear that this is Jinâ€™s way of life, and he lives it in much the same way a man of faith lives through God. While Jin shows no love of killing, neither does he show any regret of it. This deeply apathetic personality trait is common among Shinobi and warriors who have witnessed terrible horrors within their lifetime. There is an exception to his otherwise stoic nature. Jin is keen to hear any mention of the Ookami no Metsuki, a group he seems to have a vendetta against. It is most likely that Jin travels so much in hopes that he will find members of this group. Personal Effects: Totsuka no Tsurugi â€“ A finely crafted short katana with a single-edged, straight blade and a simple, black, square tsuba. The handle is adorned with a purple cloth grip. The entire blade is kept in a black saya with a purple rope knot. The katana holds no special properties but is extremely well crafted. Ninjutsu: Izanagi â€“ A special dojutsu that affects his right eye. When Izanagi is active Jinâ€™s right eye becomes completely black with a red iris. Izanagi makes Jinâ€™s vision highly sensitive, to the point where he can detect even the most subtle of movements. Using this ability he has learned to predict attacks so quickly that he knows only a fraction of a second after his opponent makes his move. This technique drains Jinâ€™s chakra, and prolonged use may leave him in a weakened state for days. Izanami â€“ This dojutsu is located in Jinâ€™s left eye. Izanami can invoke a powerful form of hypnosis when it looks directly in to another personâ€™s eye. This usually requires close proximity and relative stillness and thus is not normally effective in combat. Izanami can cause the inflicted to experience powerful hallucinations and can allow Jin to see flashes of their thoughts. This has proven to be an invaluable interrogation tool, however its drain on his chakra is considerably more than Izanagi, leaving Jin exhausted even after a brief spell of use.

I'd rather be living back at home than suffering this shit for money. It seemed like Silas always heard people say everything went blank when they were on stage. They went into some zen zone in their head where there was no audience, not even any bandmates - just them. Just the void and living sound. It never felt that way to him. Maybe because his band sucked. He really hated to admit it to himself - he loved his bandmates, or most of them - but they were wannabes, and he knew it. He had faith in his own skills, obviously; he'd been playing since he was eight, when his mom saved up for a month or more to get him his first guitar. Nearly every day since then he'd practiced. But fucking Leah got her drums three months ago. Date Ethan for a few months and apparently he'll just let you join his band. Ugh. Despite what everyone else said, Silas didn't give a sloppy fuck about her being a girl. What was in someone's pants didn't have shit to do with their skill as a musician. It was just that she didn't have any skill to speak of. At least there was Jacob: his roommate, and best friend. With the two of them on guitar, they could make any band a little less terrible. So that was what they strove to do: to make it just a little less awful. The two of them shared looks when their last song was over. There were a few stray claps around the bar, but mostly the din faded into the heavy, depressing quiet of the drunk and lonely. At this point, Silas had a mind to become one of them himself. Jacob approached him after they packed everything into the van. "Ready to go?" he asked. Silas shrugged him off. "I think I'm gonna stay and have a few. You go on, I'll stay with Wes or something." Wes was a fuck-buddy who lived nearby. Sorta nearby, anyway. He didn't care right now. He just wanted to sit and drink a beer and be alone. Jacob must have seen it on his face, because he backed off quickly. "Yeah, okay. Give me a call if you need a ride. Later, man." With that, the defeated young man slipped into a bar stool and ordered a damn drink. Thankfully the bartender was merciful enough not to card him, the way he looked. He didn't even care how out-of-place this rundown place made him look in his tight jeans and ripped up black tank-top and chic jewelry. He just wanted to forget the past three hours thoroughly.

A world filled with endless ocean. A world where life itself is void. Yet such a change would occur that it would change the world forever. An almighty crash heralded the sudden arrival of the Bionis and the Mechonis to this world, for the titans were locked in a timeless war... The sound of their clashing blades rang out, shaking the sea bed and sending ripples through the sky. As the duel reached its climax, the titans poured their remaining strength into one last slash of their great swords. Both struck forth with immeasurable power... Once the dust had settled, only their corpses remained. Locked in place from their world shattering strikes... Eons passed, and signs of life began appearing upon the corpse of the titan Bionis. People born of the Bionis would return to the Bionis. Now, the Bionis' enormous body, covered in lush plains as far as the eye can see, is home to a developed series of civilizations who give thanks to the titan for providing them with such a natural bounty. Life on Bionis is not destined to flourish forever, however. A war has begun. Fronted by the Mechon, a race of overwhelmingly powerful entities whose origins come straight from the Mechonis attack the peaceful races of the Bionis. What will happen? Has the Mechonis reawakened? Can the peoples of the Bionis stand against these devestating creatures? --------------------------------------------------------- Races: Homs - The equivalent of Humans, they inhabit much of the vast body of the Bionis in Colonies. They are bountiful, and run by a single government which lies within the Bionis itself. The colonies are spread from the feet to the shoulders of the Bionis with a system of tunnels that connect them to the capitol. They are a civilized and developed people who have come to be one of the dominant races of the world. Nopon - A younger race of beings on the Bionis, they resemble fat rabbits mixed with cats. They are a highly peaceful race who often become merchants and travel the Bionis freely without a care. They are highly resilient to damage and accustomed to combat, as they live within the massive jungles upon the Bionis' back. High Entia - A race who consider themselves the most developed and whose civilization has overtaken the head of the Bionis. They are powerful warriors, brilliant magic wielders, and proud people. A pair of wings adorns their heads like a crown, and allows them slight flight, though their advanced technology allows them much better transportation. --------------------------------------------------------- I'm hoping to get maybe 3 or 4 people for this set up. It's based on one of the most beautiful games I've ever played and I hope to maybe introduce some people to the world in some fashion.

Martyr of the Sands "There's always someone faster on the draw than you, and the more you use your gun, the sooner you'll meet him. Don't try to be the best, be the meanest. 'Cus there's nothin' better than a wild animal when it's cornered." - Jaco Mowsley The scorching twin suns of the planet Sabaku shone down upon the desert frontier town of Whitewood. It wasn't a big town, it wasn't famous for anything, and it was a quiet place for the most part, aside from the occasional fist fight at the saloon. It was a place a man could disappear in, where a legend could go to die... "Gimme another." A man asked in a gruff southern drawl, tapping the saloon's counter top. His face lowered, hidden by the shadow of his black flat-top cowboy hat. "I can't. Your tab is already over a hundred credits!" The barman started to walk away but disgruntled patron grabbed his arm. He tipped his head back to reveal a handsome face, marred only by a scar running horizontally across his face, through his nose. His long hair a sandy-coloured scruffy mane below his hat, with a beard to match. His weathered emerald eyes with the signature spiral pupils of a Hokubeidojin stared the barman down. The barman paused hesitantly, but after a couple of seconds he laughed and yanked his arm away, and in doing so, the drunkard lost his balance and fell from his stool, unceremoniously crashing to the floor. He lay there for a few moments, as though sleep seemed a good option but then something motivated him to stand up. He turned to face the barman again, his long lion-like prehensile tail swished behind him as he pulled back his long brown trench coat and began unbuckling something around his waist. "Now what're you doin'?" The barman asked, raising an eyebrow. "How much?" The drunkard asked, slamming a pair of pistols on the counter. The barman looked from the drunk native to the guns and sighed, approaching them to assess them quickly. They were high-quality pistols, but it looked as though they hadn't been fired in a long time. Ideally, they needed maintenance. "Here." The barman replied, taking down a bottle of firewhisky from the shelf and pouring the drunkard a large glass, but as he withdrew the bottle, the lion-tailed man snatched it and placed it firmly on the counter and took a deep gulp from his glass. The barman sighed irritably and walked away, taking the drunkard's guns with him. They wouldn't fetch much, but more than the bottle of firewhiskey was worth, at least. At that moment, the saloon doors swung open and a heavy-set man strolled in and immediately ordered a drink. He downed the shot in a single gulp and his eyes wandered to the drunk, "Hey, desert rat, yer in my seat." "Ain't nobody's seat." The drunkard muttered back, pouring more liquor into his glass. "I says different. Yer in my seat." And on the last word, punctuated it by shoving the drunkard who quickly found himself on the floor once again, his hat fell from his head and he looked up at his aggressor with a truly venomous glare. "What? What ye gonna do about it? Hmm?!" The heavy-set man's hand snatched to a holstered pistol on his belt. Slowly, the native pulled himself back to his feet, steadied by his tail which swished violently to keep him from falling over. He snatched his hat from the ground, almost toppling in the attempt and then brushed his hair back as he put it back on, "Nothin'." He muttered, and grabbed the bottle as he walked out. Laughter from the inside of the saloon stung his large, pointed ears as he left. As a member of the Hokubeidojin or 'Ojin' his hearing was unequalled. It wasn't always a blessing. Crossing the dusty road to the other side, he walked down for a ways until he came to a small shack. He opened it and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit by a single, half-dead oil lamp. A stiff looking bed with a bare mattress lay in one corner with only enough room for a few feet of chaotic mess. A jumble of old clothes, and who knows what else. He stepped over the mess and fell onto the bed, drinking the alcohol as if it were water. Loud banging suddenly woke him. He looked around the room with an irate look, trying to understand the world in those early moments. The banging resumed and he groaned, "What the hell ye want?!" He barked, lying back in bed. The door to his little shack opened and a small, frail-looking man peeped his head in. "Uh, Mr. Namida, it's your landlord." He said sheepishly. "Uh-huh, what ye wantin' then?" Namida replied, examining the bottle that had apparently remained in his hand while he dozed. It was empty however and he threw it onto the floor with a curse. Though taken aback by the Ojin's outburst, the man continued. "Well, your rent is due." "I'll have it for yeh tomorra'." He muttered, rolling over. "A-actually, Mr. Namida, it's several months over due." The man replied, gripping the door like a life-preserver. "Urgh," Namida growled, "I've got a job." He lied, "You'll have yer money in the mornin'. Leave me be." He yawned with a deep growl and grabbed for a thin sheet which he pulled over himself, while still fully dressed. The frail-looking landlord looked as though he wanted to say more, but decided against it and closed the door behind him. He had no jobs lined up. He hadn't taken any in a long time. Maybe he'd have to take one soon, see what was available. Something that had no risk and paid a great deal would suit him just fine, but he'd probably have to make do with whatever was going. After all, he was known as a drunk, a drifter and a waste of space. Most would rather pay a bounty hunter with a solid name, or a ranger like Macayle Hadley. His only hope was if Hadley was too expensive. He fell back asleep, trapped in a feverish dream. He felt like he'd only been asleep for moments however, as another knock came at his door. This time however, he noticed a distinct pain buzzing around his head, the signs of a well-earnt migraine. Also, he could see the light of the twin suns shining into his shack. It was morning. "What the hell d'ye want?!" He barked, throwing his empty firewhiskey bottle at his closed door as he tried to go back to sleep.

On the desert world of Sabaku, the strong prey on the weak, and nobody does a thing. It's a harsh land, one that though tinted by mystery and beauty, is more often blighted by corruption and danger. It's a world where good men die and bad men thrive. The law's arm can only stretch so far before the mercenaries and bounty hunters take over, and beyond that is wild open plains and desert, ruled by bandits, outlaws and natives. This is no place for the weak. But not everything is as it seems. In short, this RP is a mixture of genres, but is predominantly a dark sci-fantasy western, set on an alien world. You can expect all the regular trappings of the wild west, with outlaws, natives, law men, and so on, but from an alien/sci-fi perspective. If this at all grabs your interest, feel free to message me over Skype (or ask for it if you dont have me added) or leave a message here, preferably prior to putting up a character profile (just so i'm aware of your interest). I'll provide some more in-depth details below to use as reference for the participants or if you're curious about the RP and wish to know more before committing. I will say however that this requires commitment, at least a post a week or more if possible (but not expected). Aside from myself and Kyo, I will be taking 1 more, maximum 2. Spots are given to the best characters, if there are more than that applying. If you wish to have your own race, lore or anything, feel free to speak to me about it and we can work something out. I should also say that there is a degree of 'magic' or abilities that are entirely unexplained in this story, so if you want one feel free to discuss the possibilities with me. There is no rule book on them, and no general explanation for them, but if you would like a 'power' its definitely something we'd need to discuss. Also, this is partially inspired by things like the Dark Tower series, Outlaw Star, Desert Punk, Trigun, etc. It is anime-themed I suppose, and there is definitely room for comedy, but nothing ridiculously over the top or 'reference' in nature preferably. WORLD The world as i've said above, is known as Sabaku. It is a world that has a high proportion of desert to it, but it also has forest, plains, mountains, valleys, rivers and the like, indicative of a 'wild west' setting. There are a couple of cities with high populations, but most of the towns are only a few hundred to a few thousand people, and many of these are frontier towns that have a harder time maintaining resources, especially precious ones like water, and they are also the most commonly threatened by natives, bandits and the like. Sabaku is a single land mass that takes up about seventy percent of the world, with the other thirty percent being devoted to open ocean. Most of the civilised world lives on the coast of this mega-continent, with the natives having the strongest presence in the interior. The further into the centre of Sabaku you go, the harder it is to survive, with less plentiful water sources, lawless wilds and dangerous predators. STORY Our story revolves around the lead character, a man who is more a flawed, reluctant anti-hero than a true champion. The story will begin simply enough, with our characters meeting up and learning about one another but it will quickly spiral when the lead is asked to accept a bounty that he believes will be easy money, which only serves to pull him into a shit storm of mystery, action, betrayal and intrigue. He will be driven by a mixture of this, which might include a love interest if someone wanted to play that, which I can imagine it being one of those romances that begin like, 'she hates him, he's forced to put up with her' kind of classic western romance situations. He will also be trying to understand his heritage, what happened to him in his past, who killed his family, trying to come to terms with where he belongs in society, as he's a native, yet he's become 'civilised' so neither society truly accepts him, the fact that he's also an outlaw turned bounty hunter and is obviously skirting on the edge of the law (and often outside of it). As the main story progresses, we will be forced to realise that there is a big enemy out to take control of the world, by forcefully uniting and taking control of all the settlements and systematically wiping out the natives. He will be the big bad enemy for us to fight for the majority of the story, but he will also have a series of 'generals' or the like, who we will be encountering periodically, which I will design for the most part (unless you would like to contribute). They will range from people such as a sniper who can manipulate sand, so as to make it nearly impossible to find him, to a great brute of a man, an android, who can take a punishing and dish it out too using a pair of massive magnum-like revolvers that a normal person would be incapable of firing without breaking their wrist. That's the overall idea in a nutshell, but its plenty open-ended and has room for a lot of sub-plots as well as each characters own back-story, personal plots and revelations, etc. RACES Jinteki - Effectively, the Jinteki are 'human'. Though their culture is different from our own, they are human in appearance. They are the most balanced of the races, and come in the most varied size and shape, though they are commonly of average height and build. They do not possess remarkable physical traits but they are skilled in most anything they set their minds to and can naturally excel physically if they choose to devote themselves to such a pursuit. They can be anything from law man, to merchant to outlaw. Nothing is really off-limits for them and they are the most common of the races, and consequentially the most powerful, not only in number but in political power. They have many different cultures, beliefs and people come from all walks of life. They are arguably the least communal of the races and have been known to war on one another on small and large scales, with varying degrees of destruction. They are said to be 'three-faced' as you never know what a Jinteki is thinking, or if what they are saying is truth, lies or a moment of whimsy that was truth one moment and a falsehood the next. Hokubeidojin - Often derogatorily called 'desert rats', they are the natives of Sabaku. While the other races were said to have arrived on Sabaku thousands of years ago in great ships, the 'Ojin' as most call them, are the true owners of the land. They are a hardy people, human in stature, but are often considered more animal than man. They live off the land, and though they are extensively skilled in survival techniques they are also strangely masterful with technology. Some of the strongest or most intricate weapons, technology or bionics have come from Ojin manufacturers who either chose to leave their community to join the so-called 'civilised' societies, or ones that were taken as slaves or otherwise forcibly removed from their homes. They stand slightly taller than humans, on average, though not spectacularly so. They are commonly lithe in build and have tanned skin that is often adorned with tribal tattoos marking various occasions, titles, feats or other notable times in the native's life. They have three things that set them aside from humans and makes them immediately recognizable as Ojin. Firstly, they have large, long-pointed ears that give them amazing hearing and allow them to keep cool in the heat of the desert. Secondly, they have eyes that have spiral-like pupils that have a thin membrane over the top, stopping sand from entering their eyes or having them dry out. Which also means they rarely blink, which gives them an eerie stare at times. Lastly, they have an incredibly long prehensile tail, similar in shape to a lion's (in that it is thin, fur-covered and has a tuft of hair at the end) that is roughly one and a half time's the length of their body. This extra appendage is naturally very useful, and also helps them keep an excellent balance. They are remarkably agile and fast but lack a great deal of physical strength, so they rely on their speed and agility in combination with bladed or projectile weapons. Their culture is one dedicated to nature and spirits, they believe strongly in fate and of living off the land and having respect for it, and though they are civilised in their own way, they are aggressive in defending their land, often fight amongst themselves and have a 'the weak will perish' mentality, where every individual is expected to contribute as well as be autonomous. Sukoshi - Also known as the little-folk. The Sukoshi are often smaller than Jinteki children and have a proportionally large head for the size of their body, most of this is taken up by their eyes, which are at least twice the size of a Jinteki's and are said to be keener than the predatory birds of the mountains. Despite their small frames, and their lack of physical strength, they are the most common to hold unusual 'magical' powers. These can vary greatly in nature, more often than not they seem to reflect the individual Sukoshi's personality. They are also master craftsmen, builders and have an incredibly close relationship with one another. Every one of them considers one another a brother or sister and they have never warred on one another. They often live in great numbers together, rather than individual family homes. They often fall into the roles of merchants as their keen eyesight gives them insight into a person's intentions based on their body language, so they are often able to ascertain when goods are ill-quality, stolen, etc. or how far they can push to lower the price, or how high they can sell something for. They are a shrewd people with a powerful intellect and unlike the wars of the Jinteki, or the tribal in-fighting of the Ojin, they are a peaceful people. Though, there are individual exceptions. Yaen - The Yaen are the most physical of the races. Though all of the races of Sabaku have adapted to their planet's climate to varying degrees of success, it is the Yaen who among the 'new' races needed the least acclimatization to their surroundings. The shortest of their race are usually over 7ft in height. Their musculature, though not as well-developed as a body-builder, is incredibly dense. So dense in fact that they are unable to swim, they would simply sink to the bottom and walk along the floor of the body of water in question. This powerful muscle gives them unparalleled strength. They are a race that the others know the least about as they are extremely private in nature. They can be aggressive and hot-tempered in some situations, especially if pressed for personal information, but are otherwise level-headed individuals who enjoy testing their strength either in day to day life, through being manual labourers (and so often have a good relationship with the peaceful Sukoshi) or through contests, duels and the like. They have a thin coating of white fur that helps to reflect the searing light of Sabaku's sun and they have bear-like faces - small eyes, large noses at the end of a short muzzle, and front-facing rounded ears. Ayrun - A medium build race of average height, similar to the Jinteki or Ojin. They are commonly known to have grey skin and silver hair. Their bodies are unusual in that unlike the other races they are cold-blooded. They are capable of great feats of contortion as they are triple-jointed and their reflexes are greatly heightened. The Ayrun are nomads, never staying in one place for long. They are also merchants, trading in the finest and most valuable of items they find in their travels, but they are a mercurial, and seemingly cold-hearted people who will do whatever it takes to get what they need, and so they are often thought of as being untrustworthy by the other races. There are many sayings about the Ayrun that mention their cold blood being related to their nature. FAUNA The fauna of Sabaku is as beautiful as it is dangerous. It shares certain similarities with our world, in that it has apex predators similar to bears, mountain lions and the like, but it also has pack predators not unlike wolves. It has an abundance of life for a world that on first glance seems so lifeless, but it is also this abundance of life that poses dangers to the civilised races. It is said that you don't as much as piss without bringing a rifle, as many of Sabaku's animals are ambush predators. Though, in general, besides pests, most of them stay away from the towns and cities, save for the beasts of burden - the most common of which is the Tori. These giant bird-like creatures share similarities to our ostriches, in that they are flightless and can run at extreme speed on a pair of powerful hind-legs. However, they are Sabaku's equivalent to horses, and are ridden as such. The Tori are as intelligent (or more so) as horses, and are about the same size, though they are omnivores and will eat whatever is put in front of them. They can be extremely loyal creatures and have been known to attack threats to their owners. FLORA The flora of Sabaku is as varied and dangerous as it's fauna. There are as many poisonous or deadly plants, flowers and trees as there are those that can save your life. It is in knowing which can kill you in a matter of hours, and which can save your life in a critical situation that means the difference between life and death. They have powerful effects, regardless. Some have spines hard enough that they can be shaved down and turned into poisonous bullets, others have toxins in them that aggressively target poison and a variety of disease yet leave the host unharmed. It is a dangerous world, but the more you know about it the more likely you are to survive. There are plants covering every square mile of Sabaku, even in the desert. It is simply knowing what to look for and where, as many conceal themselves through a variety of means. This knowledge is not always exclusive to the Ojin either, as their secrets have often been passed (or taken) from them over the centuries, and naturally through regular trial (and fatal error) of the newer races. That's everything for now. I'm gonna grab something to eat to take a break from all this writing, but when I come back (shortly) i'll put up my character profile. If you have questions, now's a good time to ask them and sorry for the wall of text. lol. If you're interested, leave a message and even a character suggestion if you have a good idea, if not, just a statement of interest would be awesome. I've worked hard on this world guys, so if you can't commit, don't join please. This is going ahead and i'm not letting it die, so don't try to join unless you KNOW you can give this the time. Once again, i'll say you can create your own race if you don't like the ones on offer, your own culture, religion or whatever, so long as it's in keeping with the lore of the world, which I can help you with. Thanks, folks! <3

Original story set in a fantasy/post-apocalyptic alternate Earth. Read on!! Hundreds of years ago - we're not really sure when - a terrible war ravished the world. It lasted decades, between factions of what we have come to call the 'Ancients', the race of people that we are descended from. Though we have inherited much of their culture, through old literature, music and other rarities found in the wastelands, our world changed drastically. At the height of the war, one faction of the Ancients launched terrible weapons that burnt the lands, killing millions and making many more sick with radiation. Most forms of technology were destroyed, reverting the planet back to a simpler time. Though many of the structures and old world relics remained, our culture, language, written word and many other things had changed beyond what our predecessors could possibly understand. The land had changed, though much of the land was now safe to traverse, as future generations had adapted to the background radiation, much of the water was still deadly to drink, and so, fresh water and food became one of the most important commodities in trade. Weapons came second, with ammunition acting as the new universal currency. For it's said, without a weapon, you won't last long in the wilds of this new world. Monsters now roam the world, perhaps ancestors of creatures that the Ancients once knew, or perhaps new life altogether, it doesn't matter. These monsters come in all shapes and sizes and most of which prey on us. Despite radiation, starvation, thirst, monsters and all manner of problems in our world, there has been one saving grace. Ancient-Tech. Ancient-Tech comes in two forms. Mechanical, which has mostly been scavenged from old technology and modified. Things that generate power power, light, heat, etc. Tools that are able to weld, shape and cut, and many other fascinating inventions of a time now lost. The other form of Ancient-Tech, there is no mention of in Ancient texts, so it is assumed that it came into creation either as a direct result of the Ancient's war and its effects, or soon after. It is known as 'Glass'. Glass comes in two forms - the weaker version, like marbles in size, shape and density. These can be attached to equipment like weapons, armour or other items to give them special 'magical' abilities and a stronger version, which is about the size of a golf ball, is soft, almost like jelly and must be consumed. The person who consumes this version of Glass gets a permanent ability or access to some form of latent 'magic' as well as having enhanced physical powers/senses unlike regular folk. The problem with Glass, is that the more that it is used, the sicker a person becomes. Consuming it once usually makes a person ill for a few weeks, but they adapt with no permanent side-effects. Consuming another can have a terrible side-effect where it dulls a sense. You could start to lose the feeling for an emotion, or a physical sense like taste or touch, you could lose the ability to feel anything but the most severe of pain. Consuming Glass a third time can cause death or worse, can turn you into a powerful monster, but there are a small handful of reports that have claimed that some have consumed a third gel-state Glass without suffering these effects. The world we live in now is harsh, and ruled by warring factions, constant bandit attacks, monsters, and all sorts of terror. But there are a small handful of people who take it upon themselves to protect the weak from those who would choose to prey on them. These people are known as 'Shines', as they are the most common of folk to take the risks of consuming Glass, which has the side-effect of making your eyes shine, even in darkness. They come in many forms, from true officers of the law, trying to protect towns or cities from monsters, to bounty hunters or mercenaries who do so for personal gain. They take terrible risks with Glass and the world, but for good reasons (even if those reasons are only good to the individual). Our stories will revolve around a man who wanders the wastes as a bounty hunter, a man who will become caught up in the struggle between factions, survival and against a man who will do anything to seize power. He will need all the help he can get, and I would encourage each of you to have your own stories in addition to my own character and the over-arcing world's story. This is a character driven roleplay, with a focus on our stories. But we will definitely be having a big story revolving around the origin of Glass, the monsters, the state of the world and everything in general. I just don't want to spoil anything at this stage, but if you'd like to know more about something in particular, just ask. So, there it is guys, if you're interested please say so, i'll be writing up my character profile shortly. I'm looking for another 2-3 people for this story. I'll be pretty strict on applicants and i'll just pick the people with the best characters. Please post to let me know you're interested before you put up a character profile though, just so I know you're interested. You don't have to play a 'Shine' if you would rather play something else, if you want to discuss it or have questions feel free to ask me here or via Skype - you know i'm on Skype as the-valentine so if you dont have me, feel free to add me (letting me know who you are).

Children of the Ancients â€œAll living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in strange, sometimes inexplicable ways. This madness can be saving; it is part and parcel of the ability to adapt. Without it, no species would survive.â€ - Translated from an Ancient tome A long time ago, when the world was filled with smoke and death, there was a race much like us. It is said that they lived by carving out the mountains, sweeping aside the forests and claiming the land as their own. They took from nature, and so nature in turn, took from them. Over time, they found it harder and harder to sustain their growing population. Eventually, when all their resources were used up, they wanted to travel to the stars in great machines capable of saving them. But they were suspicious and hateful. They could not decide what to do or where to go, and as the nights grew cold, and their stomachs lay empty, they attacked. Clouds of dust blanketed the skies for days, great wind and fire rushed over the land, cleansing it with terrible poison. When the dust finally settled, they were all but extinct. Without their technology, without their resources, and sick from the poison that racked their bodies, they slowly succumbed to our world. But not before they gave birth to us, the Char. In time, we forgot them and their ways and we began to accept this world as a new paradise. But as it was with them, it was not to last. We grew suspicious and hateful. And soon, their ways became ours once more. They were the Ancients. We are their children. Breathing had become irregular, he gasped for air but the poisonous spores had already begun their work. Out here in the wastes, if you didn't cover your mouth in certain areas of the heaviest vegetation, where the spore plants grew, you would be dead in minutes. That didn't matter though, not to him. He stumbled as he tried to navigate the jungle. Eyes darting everywhere for some kind of answer to come to him, he heard something behind him and whirled around. Voices in the distance. He turned and ran once again. Driven on by their distant calls. "He's over here!!" A man yelled out. He didn't stop to look. Which was just as well, as a makeshift arrow flew past his head and hit the tree just in front of him as he continued sprinting. He dare not look, they were probably right behind him now. His lungs were burning, he wanted to stop, he'd give anything for a drink of water. But out here, water was precious. Few sources of it were clean and drinkable, either due to waste from animals or plants, stagnation or because of the poison that even now, after thousands of years, still tainted many sources. "He's trying to reach the cliffs!!" The same voice yelled. But this time, it was followed with responses from at least two others. This sent the running man into sheer panic. Even as he pulled himself out of the branches of the densest part of the jungle, he found himself at just the area his pursuers had described. A sheer cliff. He paced back and forth like a cornered wild cat, trying to know what to do. He was going to be killed any moment, he looked back to see lights coming through the darkness of the brush. Burning torches. "Please! He called out to them, even as he looked over his shoulder, wishing that there had been water at the bottom of the cliffs, so that he could at least risk jumping, but no such luck, "Please don't!!" He yelled back. "He's trapped!!" One of the men yelled, one of the others whooped back in response. Then suddenly, as one, the three pursuers burst out of the jungle and came to a stop. One of them held a bow and arrow, with a string made of some kind of wire. As he nocked an arrow, his comrades drew makeshift knives and advanced on him. The wind of the cliffs howled as the dark clouds overhead threatened to burst with rain. A crack of lightning in the distance and a mere second or two later, thunder boomed. "Please!!" He repeated, knowing he had nowhere left to go, he fell to his knees and raised his arms in aid of his plea. "I don't--" "--shut up!!" The leader of the trio spat, looking at his knife and testing it's edge with his thumb. "Stay still and this will be quick." He added, and marched up to the kneeling man, grabbing him by his ragged, dirty hair. He brought his knife up to his neck, but something made him stop. The leader of the bandits frowned and looked down into the man's eyes. Something was off about them. He was terrified, yes. But his fear seemed pointed at something other than the men. He saw a strange glow in the man's eyes, but it came not from his, but from the reflection of something else. The bandit leader turned around to see a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness of the jungle. Two brightly glowing red beads, in a sea of black. The leader brought his torch ahead of him as a mixture between defence and an aid to his sight in the dying evening light. The clouds overhead rumbled with thunder once again. "Oi oi!!" The man barked into the jungle, "What's out there?!" He waited, "You can't fool me, i've been out here too long, if those eyes were larger you might be a monster, but you're not. Come out here." For a few long seconds, nothing happened. The bandit leader swallowed, looking at each of his men who seemed visibly shaken by the non-compliance of the glowing red orbs. But eventually, they began to move towards them. Until at last they emerged, revealing their owner. The man in question looked like he might be in his mid-twenties, but much of him was covered. The leader of the bandits quickly assessed him for any information about him or any threats. So he was young, he could be strong. He was wearing some kind of breather, an Ancient relic. While the bandits wore rags to keep most of the spores out of their lungs, if they could kill this man and take his breather, then the leader would be sure to be free of any spores whatsoever. He licked his lips beneath the rag in anticipation of a boon to his safety. He looked over him, the man wasn't particularly muscular, so he likely couldn't overpower him. He was above average in height. His skin was tanned, so he had probably spent much of his life out in the wastes. At least, that was his first assumption. But then he saw the white hair sticking out from under the hood of the trench coat, "'Ey, are you a, uh..." He looked over to his comrades for the answer, but they said nothing. "What does it matter?" The man replied, his voice was calm and near toneless, "Are you going to let him go?" He asked, raising a hand to point at the man behind them. "Only, I want to take him back to his village." "Ha," the bandit laughed, frowning, "Hahaha! Really?!" He raised his knife, "It's three against one." "No. You forgot about him." The masked stranger nodded at their prospective victim, and as the bandit turned to look at the kneeling man, the masked stranger launched forwards at a sprint. Within a couple of seconds he was on the trio and the leader only had time enough to see the glowing red of the stranger's eyes before a knife plunged into his neck. He grabbed at the metal embedded in his throat, gurgling wordlessly as blood filled his lungs. He stumbled backwards and croaked out a scream as he fell from the cliff's edge. The other two bandits turned on the stranger, brandishing their weapons. One raised his bow, drew back the arrow and as he fired, the stranger rolled out of the way. From the inside of his trench coat sleeve, another knife dropped into his hand. Expertly, he threw it, it flew through the air and struck the man in the chest, by the time he hit the ground, he was dead. The final bandit raised his knife, but it was shaking. The stranger advanced, this time pulling a dangerous looking curiosity from a sling on his back. It had a long metal handle with a couple of prongs on the inside to make gripping it easy, even when your full weight was on the handle. It curved and came to an abrupt stop, where it made a sort of upside-down, back to front 'L' shape. To the Ancients, it was a climber's ice axe. But to him, it was a multi-purpose tool and weapon. He held it to one side, but as he approached, the remaining bandit lost his nerve and ran. The stranger turned and raised the ice axe, ready to throw. But as he tensed, he decided against it. It might come back to haunt him, but if he could help it, he wouldn't take any more lives today. He turned to face the kneeling man, but before he could confirm his identity, he heard a terrifying, gut-wrenching scream. The red-eyed stranger whirled around, raising the ice axe ready to strike, and saw in the distance, the remaining bandit. "Noooo, noo nooo nooooo!!" He wailed, putting his arm up to protect himself. The arm was ripped from its socket like it was held on by wet newspaper. The bandit roared in pain and confusion at his missing limb and squeeled as the monster's maw bit down on him, severing his body in two as the bones crunched under the strength of its massive fangs. "Wendigo! Curse my luck..." He muttered, looking around for a way out of his situation. The Wendigo was a dangerous predator that was most commonly active during dusk, in the poor light, it would stalk it's prey and more often than not, it was successful. Especially in the case of hunting unsuspecting Char. He knew that in a couple of seconds, when this creature was done with it's meal, it would turn on them. There was nowhere to go, if he tried to sneak by, it would attack. He gripped onto his weapon tightly, there was nothing else he could do. The Wendigo was a creature as large as an elephant, but was more like a big cat. It's claws were as large as a Char's hand, and it's fur was as dark as midnight. It was a monstrous creature with a ravenous appetite, that would not stop feeding until all immediate food sources had been consumed. "W-what do we do?!" The man asked the stranger, but as he tried to pull himself to his feet, the stranger acted on what he knew to be the only course of action. Gritting his teeth, he turned on the man and with a powerful strike, sunk the ice axe into the man's thigh. He wailed as the axe was quickly withdrawn with a dull, wet noise and quickly toppled over onto his side. The Wendigo had heard the man's yell and licking it's enormous black paws clean of blood, stood up and turned to face them. It hunkered down low, ready to strike from what must have been at least 40ft away. The stranger tensed, and as the Wendigo pounced he turned and leapt off the cliff, spinning around in the air as he fell. The Wendigo snapped at him, but too late and quickly turned on the wounded man. He took this opportunity to reach out, the ice axe burying itself into the rock. For a couple of nail-biting seconds he thought it wouldn't catch and then with a crunch, it stopped him. But all too quickly. He felt the snap as his arm was pulled from it's socket and he couldn't stop himself from screaming, the noise muffled from beneath his mask. But he couldn't let go, if he did, he would fall to his death. He hung there for what seemed like hours, the dusk turned to night and the thunder turned to rain as he held himself by his dislocated arm. Eventually, the sounds of the creature eating and stalking by the cliff side was gone. He had to pull himself back up, but his arm had locked in this position and it took him a great deal of time, skill and care to pull himself back up to the ledge using his one good arm. As he pulled himself onto the cliff edge and over the side, he fell onto his back and pulled his mask off, panting for air. The spores wouldn't get him now, it was dark and they were less active, plus it was raining so the air was at it's purest right now. For a few minutes he stayed on his back, but as his adrenaline began to subside, the pain in his arm returned. He picked up his ice axe and put the handle in his mouth and then, lying himself against the floor, snapped his arm back into place. He thought for a moment that he could have bitten through the metal handle, for the pain that he experienced in that moment. But it wasn't the first time he'd done this. The blood was everywhere, that was the only sign that a kill had been made. Everything else of him had been eaten. The stranger wiped his tan face clean of sweat using the back of his trench coat sleeve, picked up one of his knives that had been dropped on the floor, presumably when the Wendigo had begun eating, and then marched back into the jungle. As he walked into the decaying rubble of the old building, a nervous voice greeted him immediately. "Well...?" She asked, the mother holding her young daughter to her chest. "Did you find him?!" She snapped at last, tears streaming down her face. "Yes." He replied, pulling off his breather and sighing. "Tell me, Atlas, for goodness sake! Where's my husband?!" She cried. Atlas shook his head, unable to look her in the eye. As he bed down for the night, lighting a fire to keep the three of them warm, he found himself weary of his thoughts. He knew he had to get to the nearby town of Darran. It wasn't much really, just a corrugated iron shanty. But it would have at least a dozen or more people, maybe a few supplies that he could trade for, but then once he'd dropped these two off, he'd have to return to the wastes again. Towns were no place for him. He wished he could remember his past, but much of it was foggy to him, only images seemed to swim in his mind, sometimes feelings associated with certain things. Whether he was awake or sleeping, he felt like he was always dreaming. And his dreams were often nightmares. No, he couldn't stay in a town for long, it made him nervous. Why he didn't know, but it was enough that his instincts told him not to. It would be a long night, the cold was bitter and the woman's cries at losing her partner made it all the more so, for the sacrifice he had been forced to make. Tonight, he wouldn't sleep.

The world is full of hardships. Many struggle to gain the needs to survive whether it be food or coin. We are driven by our passions, often fueled by our darkest traits, such as vanity and greed. A world of ambition is a world of cutthroats and scoundrels. A world that is harsh and cruel. However nothing is as cruel as the mistress we know as the sea. She is a mysterious sort, with a mind of her own. She will welcome us with smooth waters, with an enchanting glitter as she waves to the sun. She allows us passage across her back, in search of food, treasure and trade, allowing us to sustain the lives we have constructed, high atop stone towers, risen from the dirt. And then, with fleeting whimsy, she will take it all from under us. She will trap us in chaotic waves that seem to rise out from nothing, batter our spirits with cold, harsh winds and rain that beats down like rocks. Her mood is ever changing and it is up to us to thank her for her gentle moments of calm, and also to brave out her fury. To travel the sea is the heart of our society. We traverse the oceans in search of prosperity, trading with our fellow man to improve our own short time on this earth. We wage war upon her surface, and lay our dead in her depths. A life before the mast is a life of adventure, one full of joy, sorrow, the call of a hearty song, and the clash of steel. And many a strange creature lurks within the deep, and more still hidden among the islands that obstruct her eternal path. Every day men and women turn to the sea, in search of fortune, in search of purpose, or even out of duty. The navy patrol the waters, upholding the laws of the rich and privileged, whilst merchants sell their wares from port to port. Explorers sail further, in search of undiscovered lands. And many a man will do whatever it takes to earn his place in the sun. Many a man will suffer the guilt, the pain and the darkness that comes with a life of crime. Be sure when you pass a merchant or officer at sail, to respond to them with a kindly wave or a show of respect. However, should you find yourself in the presence of pirates, then you would be best to flee, or face your fate in the bottom of the drink. What's more, much of our world lays undiscovered. Many secrets lie hidden, waiting for those with ambition to seek them out. However even the most glorious of treasures is masked in myth and legend. A man will not always find what he seeks. Often the most splendid bounty is home to a terrible curse. The price you pay for power, I suppose. Yet one legend is so famous, that it is considered a myth by most. A legend speaks of a once great king, a brilliant explorer who procured enough gold to live a thousand lifetimes. The King, a man who loved a quest, saw his life drawing to an end. He sealed himself in a tomb, hidden on an island known to no man. There he stared death in the face, sat among his pile of gold, and the many trinkets and treasures he had collected along the way. There was one treasure, so amazing, so enchanting, that nobody would ever let it be forgotten. And yet as the years passed the details became cloudy. But one fact remains, the treasure that the long dead King clutches in his arms, is one that can bring any man or woman the redemption they seek. According to legend, the treasure will lift any curse, bring light to any life, and allow those who hold it the chance to walk this earth pure and free. A chance to be the best you can be, free from illness, from terrible curses, from pain and despair. A chance to be truly free. What more could you want? Well, a big pile of gold, that's what! In all of the years, in all of the tellings of this tale, no one has ever found the Treasure of the Long Dead King. So this rp takes place in a fictional world that is inspired by the fantastical stories of the Golden Age of Piracy. The world functions under similar conventions and restrictions, with people sailing the seas in ships made of wood and metal, ships of the era, pirate ships, you get the idea. people wield swords and guns, however, guns are of the time of pirates, so we're talking flintlocks, not AK-47s. It's essentially your typical swash-buckling adventure. What's more I've added a fantasy element by including mythical creatures and also curses, varied and strange afflictions that befall people through their own unique circumstance. Curses usually provide a "power" of sorts but also provide an equal down side. For example should a man be cursed with the strength of ten men, then he may perhaps be disadvantaged by having the weight of ten men, meaning he would be far too dense and heavy to ever float on water, a dangerous affliction for a man of the sea, no? There are a bunch of well known examples. If you wish your character to be cursed, I urge you to try to be inventive, create something quite detailed, specific and unique. The devil is in the details. Don't worry about having to explain it scientifically or anything, it's a curse! It doesn't have to make logical sense. Anyway this rp is open to all, if we have students involved I'll start it in the student area so please state if you are a student. I am, as always, going to be exceptionally picky so showing interest doesn't guarantee you a spot in the rp. So make a good profile! Anyway here's mine: Name: William "Bill" Teague Age: 38 Appearance: 6 feet tall, with a natural lean build. Green eyes and dark brown hair. His hair is shoulder length and shaggy, with three sections of beaded hair down the right of his head. He often wears a red scarf tied around his head like a band, knotted to the left of his face. He has short stubble and wears gold hooped earrings, three in each ear of varying sizes. He wears a simple white shirt over his chest, and a pair of black trousers. Over his shirt he wears a long, black coat with large collar and a deep red lining, thick cuffs at the wrist and a simple three-buttoned front. He also wears a red sash around his waist over his coat, along with a bet which holsters a flintlock pistol at either side along with pouches to keep his powder and ammunition. On his feet he wears thigh-high, black boots with a folded bucket top. He is also rarely seen without a cutlass in his possession and a black tricorn hat. Personality: Charming and witty. Bill Teague rarely takes life seriously, often making inappropriate jokes in times of trouble. He is a calm person who rarely shows raw anger or even frustration. Underneath the surface he hides a deep sorrow and guilt from a life of regrets. An optimist at heart, he chooses to stride forward and push away his troubles, forever seeking adventure and fortune that will allow him to leave his past behind. Clever, decisive and brave, he has the charisma and passion to lead men of similar ilk to his own. Bio: Born to a privateer and a housewife, William Teague was always destined for a life on the sea. He sailed on a ship when he was only 6 years old, however, he did not learn the various responsibilities of a sailor until he was 12. His only time spent with his father was when he was occasionally taken on short voyages, however, most of his time was spent on land with his mother. At the age of 15 he received new of his father's death at sea, and he suffered his first great loss in life. After a year he and his mother fell on to hard times. Without the income his father had brought in they were struggling to make ends meet. Bill began his life as a privateer at sixteen. He spent the majority of the next 2 years at sea, fighting on behalf of the Navy. He returned several weeks before his 18th birthday to find his town had been taken over by the navy of a rival country. In the taking of the town, his mother had been caught in the crossfire and died. Now alone, Bill took to the sea once again, serving 8 more years as a privateer. During this time he met a woman named Mary Anne Murphy and the two eventually fell in love. Soon after they bought a modest home together and got married. More years passed by and Bill's career began to cause problems in his romantic life. Mary grew tired of his long excursions, where she was left to wait and worry for his well-being. Bill vowed to her that after he had made enough money, he would settle down with her and run his own business, keeping his affairs away from the sea. On a particular journey the ship Bill served on was set upon by pirates. The ship was destroyed by theirs, and the crew fell into the ocean. Bill thought his life over at this point. However he awoke, clinging to a piece of wreckage, on the shore of a desert island. He spent days at the shore, struggling to find food or fresh water. He waited for ships to pass, but none ever did. His life was slowly beginning to leave him as he succumbed to starvation and dehydration. Amidst a spell of hallucination, Bill traversed inland, slowly moving through the lush forest and searching for any sign of life. As he drew further inland he came across a clearing, where there lay an aged and weak old woman with dark skin and grey hair. He desperately asked the woman for food but she had none to offer. The pair lay together, both appearing to be weak and dying. Eventually the woman spoke to him. She claimed that she was not a woman, but a sea creature called a Selkie. She explained to him that she was dying, for she needed to return to the sea, but she was too weak to travel to the shore. She offered him a bargain of sorts. She asked him to carry her on his back, and return her to the ocean. In return she would grant him life, long enough to escape this island. Bill agreed and with the last of his energy he lifted her on to his back. He slowly made his way back through the jungle, towards the shore. When he eventually arrived he lay the woman down by the water and let her bathe in the tides. After a few moments, the woman seemed to regain her energy. Slowly her image began to melt away into the water like she had shed her skin. In the place of the old woman was a young and beautiful one, with long black hair and smooth, dark skin. The woman smiled to show her gratitude. Bill asked her to save his life as she had promised. The woman revealed that she had not been entirely honest. Though she could save his life it came at a cost. He would be forever bound to her, indentured to her for the rest of his mortal life. She explained that he could love no other woman but her, but in return she would grant him power beyond any mere man. Reluctantly Bill agreed, desperate to escape the pain he was suffering. The Selkie put her hands upon him, and he felt his pain subside. As his life returned to him he felt overwhelmed and he lost consciousness. He awoke to the gentle rocking of a ship moving against the sea. He had been rescued by a passing merchant ship. Three days had passed, and he had been fed and hydrated in his moments of semi-consciousness. Thinking his survival a result of the crew's efforts, he concluded that his time with the dark haired woman had been a hallucination, and nothing to concern himself of. Two weeks later he finally made his way back home to his wife. He told her of his ordeal and vowed that he would end his career as a privateer, and begin his life on land with her. However as the weeks passed Bill realised that the undying love he had for Mary was no longer there. While he could still remember and feel all the things that made him love her, it was no longer enough. Soon their marriage began to fall apart, as Mary sensed his distance which resulted in many an argument. After several months Bill broke his promise and left the town, once again becoming a privateer. A year later he had changed greatly. Slowly he had realised that he only ever felt at home when he was at sea. He had no love for the land, nor the people on it. His mind had lingered on the words of the Selkie he had thought to be just a dream. Her words, however, rang true. He could no longer love another woman, although he felt no love for her. Soon he began to hate the Selkie who had ruined his life, and taken all that had mattered from him. Now he only had the sea. Eventually he began to grow tired of his routine life, and sought greater spoils for his efforts. In a few short years he had abandoned his career as a privateer and become a free man, a pirate. The more he plundered, the more treasures he found, the more Bill began to rediscover his zeal for life. As a pirate he went by his surname, Teague. He served on several pirate ships before finally serving under Captain Adrian Gray, a famous and brilliant pirate who was as exceptionally charming as he was cruel. On one such adventure the crew found themselves locked in battle with a powerful Galleon. The situation was dire and for the second time in his life, Teague felt his death approaching. Whilst locked in battle with a member of the other crew, however, a curious thing happened. As his opponent aimed his pistol Teague found that time began to slow around him, if only for a brief moment. It was enough time for him to act, and move out of the bullet's trajectory, before killing the man. Afterwards, as the rest of the crew celebrated their close victory, Teague could only think of that moment. As brief and almost insignificant as it had seemed, her could not strike it from his mind. In the dark of night, while the rest of the cre slept, Teague was on deck, staring out into the darkness of the sea. He heard a thump as something leapt aboard the ship from the other side. He turned around to see the beautiful, black haired Selkie that he had met all those years ago. Teague felt anger build up inside him, and without word he drew his pistol and aimed it at the creature. However despite his anger, he could not pull the trigger. The Selkie smirked cockily at him and explained that he could not harm her. She was not the kind, desperate creature she had been on the island. Before him stood a cruel and confident woman who knew that she had complete control over him. As if to reveal this fact, she used her power to force Teague to climb over the side of the ship and dangle himself on the edge. She explained that if she so desired, he would let go and fall into the drink. As he hung there, her slave, she explained the true nature of the curse that she had afflicted him with. He was now bound to her and by extension, the sea. The more time he spent on land the more his life would seem hollow and pointless, and she reiterated that he could love no woman but her. He fiercely bit back that he would never love her, and that he hated her. The Selkie only laughed at this comment. She continued her explanation, telling Teague that not all was doom and gloom. She had gifted him with great power that allowed him to stand stronger than most men. His reactions were improved, and he had been given the power of premonition, allowing him to see a brief moment into the future. This was what had happened when it had appeared that time had slowed for him. She explained that on top of this that while he was at sea, he would never suffer sickness, and never have need for food or water, however on land he would be as he was, a mortal man of basic needs. With this explained the Selkie finally informed him that she would call on him at times when she required his service, and that when those times came he would have no choice but to obey. Before she left he asked her if she had a name, The Selkie told him that her name was Nayesh. Many years passed. Teague continued his life as best as he could, all the while suffering the sporadic visits from Nayesh, who he began to refer to as "the witch". Now Teague has found himself in a spot of bother. Recent revelations have lost him his Captain and his crew, and rewarded him with a stint in captivity of the navy. Yet he still clings on to hope, as he holds new information and clues that could bring him his redemption and freedom from his curse. If he can escape his prison, for the first time in what seems like forever, he knows where he must go. To find the Treasure of the Long Dead King. So basically the idea is we will play a few characters who meet and form a crew, with my character as the Captain. at most i'll accept 5 people but ideally just 3 or 4.

The boy shot up, sucking in a large amount of air, his mind being startled awake from a deep unconsciousness. The sudden movement jostled his head and upset his stomach. Quickly noting that a simple hand over his mouth wasn't going to cut it, he immediately retched over the side of the bed and vomited onto the steel floor. He glared at his mess through blurry eyes, as if demanding it told him why it even existed. His head hurt so bad, his limbs were tenderly sore, and his throat was on fire. Absently moving his jaw, tasting the sour and salty taste of his own bile, he laid back down onto the stiff, springless mattress of his cell. It was abundantly clear that trying to do much of anything in his current state was only going to spell bad news. But that brought up a pretty good question: where was he? First, start off with the basics. Who was he? Well that was simple. The star soccer player and all around awesome guy, Davis Motomiya. Leader of the Digidestined. Keeper of the DigiEggs of Courage and Kindness. When did he get here? He guessed he'd been here for less than a few hours. Carefully, he checked his pockets, his body still relaxed and his eyes still closed, searching for his two important devices--the Digivice and D-Terminal. Nothing. Not being the type to wear watches--especially ones that kept track of days--who knew how long he had been out. It could have been overnight or even a couple of days. What was he doing in the Digital World? That's where things started to get fuzzy. It had something to do with the Digimon Emperor--these days it always did. They were somewhere on File Island. It was cold? No, maybe it was hot? A little bit of both? The group of Digidestined consisting of himself, Yolei, Cody, Kari, and T.K. were continuing to demolish control spires, just like they had been doing for several weeks, and then they ran into the Emperor. He remembered falling and rolling, all along hitting things on his way down. Ah, well at least the pain started to make sense now. Where was he? He opened his eyes slowly, the pain behind his eyes flaring up, even when the dull light of his cell touched them. He was obviously in a prison of some sort. When it came to the Digital World, that could mean only one thing--he had been captured by the Emperor. Placing an arm over his eyes he groaned slightly. How did he let that one happen? He couldn't remember. The only answer he could think of was the he had been knocked out by the fall. It's the only way he would ever let Ken touch him, that bastard. What a coward, he thought. So... How could he get out? He could hear footsteps coming down the hallway. They were getting louder, though they were taking their time to make their way down. Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap tap tap. Longer pause. Each auditory disturbance made his head ring, but he needed to see who it was. If it was a digimon, he might be able to convince him to let him go or at least distract it in some way. If it was the Emperor... Well, he had some choice words he'd like to share with his new friend. Davis weakly but very carefully sat back up in bed, making sure every part of his body was relatively undisturbed as he did so. He stepped one boot into his sick and grumpily rolled his eyes. "Come on..." he muttered. From the corner of his eye, he could see somebody was at the cell door. He quickly disregarded his misfortune and stood up, swaying and stumbling forward a few steps until finally he got his bearings. Walking clumsily to the bars of the cell, he looked down at the Gotsumon on the other side, a dark ring emitting a pale red glow around its neck. "Food." It said, sliding a tray of slop through a horizontal slot in the center of the cell door. Davis didn't take his eyes off the digimon, and he made no movement to take the offer. "Where's Ken." "Food." The digimon said again, impatiently shaking the tray, causing bits of slop to spill onto the floor. Davis leaned on the bars, feeling another wave of nauseous overcoming him. "Where's Ken." He glared at the digimon, who had taken to glaring back. "The Master doesn't wish to speak to you. Enjoy your meal." The Gotsumon released the tray, the sharp sound of metal hitting metal ringing throughout the cell. Davis stumbled back away from the bars holding his head. He tripped onto the bed and cried out. The Gotsumon laughed and continued on with his rounds. Once the ringing subsided from his ears, he began to realize he wasn't going to get anything done until he was feeling better. He sighed, frustrated at his own weakness, and closed his eyes again to rest. He had to wait until his enemy showed up before the real fun began, anyway.

Joseph Foster awoke to the dull ringing of his alarm clock. It was 6am on Monday morning. He rose out of his bed slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning. It didn't matter how many years he'd been doing it, getting up early was tough. It was even tougher on a Monday. It felt cliche to say that Mondays were the worst days, but it was so true. After a short two days of respite he was back to his boring desk job. He got up and walked across his room in his boxer shorts, out into the hall and into his small bathroom. He stepped into the walk in shower, the door sliding open automatically for him. He stripped off his underwear and proceeded to set the heat on the digital display on the wall. The shower activated and he was hit with a rush of icy cold water. In this day and age people could communicate wirelessly through every mobile device, share information, secure their homes with fingerprint recognition, retina displays and advanced facial recognition systems. People could order their groceries online and even decide when they would arrive, down to the minute. And yet, still, it was impossible for the shower to be the temperature you asked of it. Slowly the water became warmer, bordering on tepid, and Joseph's mood began to soften. As the heat reached a level he could consider warm he decided his life wasn't all that bad. He may have lived in one of the lower end sectors in Brooklyn, but he had a pretty good job all things considered. After a quick breakfast Joseph put on his clothes, a white shirt and a blue tie, black trousers and black shoes. He combed his short brown hair into a side parting, and as he looked into the mirror he decided he looked halfway towards respectable. He took his smartphone from the counter beside him and checked the time. It was 6.45am. He'd have to get a move on. The only downside to having a decent job and living in a crummy neighbourhood was the commute. --- Joseph was out on the streets, walking briskly. He, like many other early morning commuters, paid little attention to all the things going on around them. Billboards and street signs were all moving and talking, playing looped videos. Everything was done with digital displays now. As he passed by a bus stop there was an interactive advert for "NRG", a carbonated drink filled with caffeine, sugar and a cocktail of other stimulant drugs that provided people with short term energy and long term sleeping disorders. There was also another billboard with a black and orange background, this one was for Accusense Security. Joseph actually took interest in this one, Accusense powered the antivirus software in his office. "Is your data safe?" The woman on the display asked, "If you think it is, then think again. Online illegal activity is on the rise and dangerous internet thieves are constantly developing new ways to steal your data. Fear not though, Accusense offer the most sophisticated internet security system in the country. Our services offer a range of antivirus and firewall services including data recovery packages and software error reports..." Joseph shook his head and kept walking. He had to move or he'd be late to work. He moved off of the streets and descended down the steps into the subway. Quickly he found himself stuck in a large queue of people. Nothing unusual. Subways were always busy, but they were even worse after the checkpoints were installed. Joseph looked ahead, watching the people filing through a security checkpoint, where officer's were waiting for them. He felt a little uneasy. Police officers, despite being the people that kept them safe, were always an intimidating sight. Cops these days wore full, plated riot gear, with faceless, emotionless helmets. From what he understood the helmets had heads up displays inside them, so officer's could see from cameras displayed on the outside of the helmets. Regardless they just looked plain scary. Their attitudes stunk as well. It was pretty common for the police to be the ones harassing people. Obviously a little drunk on power. Nothing but glorified bullies, most of them. He wouldn't dare think that out loud though. It wasn't worth the risk. As he drew closer to the checkpoint a young man in front of him sighed. He couldn't have been any older than 18 or 19. He was dressed in brown skinny jeans, black canvas high tops, and a grey jacket with fur-lined hood. His hair was as white as snow, clearly a dye job. He was listening to music through a pair of large green headphones. Joseph had no idea what the music was but he could practically feel the bass rippling out from under the headphones. The boy looked around impatiently as he flicked through his phone. "Screw this!" the kid said finally, before turning around and forcing himself through the queue, pushing past Joseph. "Watch it, buddy!" the kid moaned at him as he brushed off through the sea of people. Jerk Joseph thought to himself. As the kid disappeared he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked his messages. He had a new one from an unknown sender. He opened it but all that could be seen was: Too tired for life? Drink NRG Joseph shook his head. Another spam message. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and pushed on through the queue. After a little while he had finally reached the checkpoint. The officer's motioned for him to step forward, gripping their rifles and nodding without a word. Joseph stepped froward through the large rectangular arch that was similar to an airport security scanner. This scanner, however, used facial recognition technology, camera retina displays in order to identify a person. As he stepped through a picture of his face popped up on the monitor next to the officers. This was his CVI, a form of identification kept on a government database. It stood for Citizen Value Indicator. Joseph's CVI was considered the lowest. This was why he lived in a high density, run down sector of Brooklyn. He wasn't entitled to live anywhere else. His income was better than most here, and his job allowed him the privilege to travel to Manhattan, where all the wealthy go-getters lived and worked. If he had a job in a place like that, then maybe he could get a promotion and move up a few levels. He'd never live in Manhattan, that was a pipe dream, but that didn't mean he couldn't hope to move to a nicer part of Brooklyn. "Move along!" one of the officers barked at him, his voice tinny and mechanical as it came through the speaker on the helmet. Joseph nodded and kept walking, heading off to catch his Subway to work. He sighed. This was why he had to be up so early. Even after the subway ride to Manhattan he'd have to go through another checkpoint to exit the subway (although he did notice it was considerably less crowded on that end) and then he'd have to walk two blocks before going through yet another checkpoint to enter his office building. It wasn't like he was getting paid for all this time he spent getting to work either. But life wasn't that bad, right? He had his health. Joseph sat at his desk typing away on the smartglass keyboard in front of him, flicking through various application on his touchscreen monitor. He was a server technician for New York's Media & Data allocation company. He worked for the government, and his job was to, like so many others, sit at his desk and sift through thousands of streams of data, videos, adverts and other information run by the media. He was tasked with finding the correct media data, sending it to the correct display somewhere in the city, and sift through or move any unsuitable data. Essentially it was censorship. The Government's way of giving the media a little spit-shine before transmitting it to the world. It also allowed for brand to advertise in specific locations at certain times that benefited their target audience. The time slots were constantly changing as companies out-bid each other for more favorable slots. It was tedious work, but it was better than flipping burgers like some of the other poor bastards in his neighborhood. Joseph was so busy working that he didn't even notice his phone's home screen blinking to life. His screensaver was cracking and shaking, before finally going black. In it's place was white text on a black background that simply stated: prtcl0//usr:ech0 Nobody had noticed it. And nothing appeared to have happened. Everything went on as it was, no changes. The phone's screen changed back to the home screen. Nobody was any the wiser. Operations like this were subtle. People like Joseph weren't perceptive enough to pick up on the small exchanges that lead to these events. Foolish, really. He had only thought to himself this morning about how he lived in a world where data could be transmitted through a wireless connection between practically any digital device in operation. Computers, tablets, phones, televisions, video game consoles. They were all transmitting data through wireless connections. With the invention of cloud storage people could even transfer data over huge distances, and have very little need to keep large quantities of information on their person. They could simply pick they information they needed and download it as and when they chose. People take these kinds of innovations for granted. Had he not listened to the passive-aggressive sales pitch of the lady in the Accusense ad? There were dangerous people out there. They were inventing new ways to infiltrate your personal data. But then again should Joseph worry? His phone is protected by Accusense. Yeah, right? Cyberspace. A digital world. It wasn't something that humans could see physically. That did not mean, however, that it was not thriving with life. The room was like a warehouse. Entirely black and spanning for miles, lit only dimly by orange neon strip lighting up in the sky. The surface was flat and smooth. Row after row of black towers with similar neon patterns pulsing through each of them, were lined up in neat rows and columns. As far as the eye could see there were these pillars. Each the exact the same size, each the exact the same distance from one another. It was beautiful in it's perfection. A perfect construct, tidy and organised, simple and yet complex, and it all came down to ones and zeros. However an imperfection had appeared. A white door had appeared. A simple white door with a silver handle. Spray painted in black across the door was the word "backdoor". And then, quietly, the door opened. A young man stepped out from the door, dressed in a white, tailored suit, and white shoes. Underneath was a black shirt and a white tie. The young man had pale skin and medium length, snow white hair. His face was obscured by a mask, also white, with perfect black circles for eyes, and a wide, black smile, and otherwise devoid of any distinction. The man strode down the dark corridors , moving through the pillars. He carried a black briefcase in his right hand, with a sticker slapped across it that read: Hello World The young man stopped after he had reached a fair distance into the city of pillars. Well, they weren't pillars, he knew that. They were servers. Each of them contained an inordinate amount of data. This data was being transmitted all around the city of New York. And there was so much of it, The young man considered if it was possible to steal it all. He could do so much with a place like this under his control. Not yet, he reminded himself. He pulled back the sleeve of his suit jacket and examined his inner wrist. Along his skin was a timer, and it was counting down. 1 minute and 28 seconds. He didn't have long before the next sweep. He bent down on the floor and opened the briefcase. Inside it was all but empty, with the exception of a single, small beetle. He picked it up and held it between his index finger and his thumb. It was no ordinary beetle. It looked like it was made of metal, like a little robot, and it was also glowing a radioactive green. The man smirked under his mask. Then he put the beetle on the ground and let it scutter away. It disappeared along the dark corridor before pushing up against one of the servers. Then, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, it simply pushed itself inside the solid pillar. The young man got up and closed the briefcase, walking away. He was heading back towards his door. Behind him the pillar his beetle had entered was beginning to grow veins of bright green. Soon the veins had completely covered the pillar, and began to move along the floor, growing and infecting each of the other pillars. As it grew it picked up speed, rapidly moving through the miles and miles of data that was contained in this server space. The white haired man looked at his wrist. fifteen seconds. He looked overhead. Sure enough, in the sky above him, some kind of drone was moving at speed. A bright light was emanating from it, as it scanned the area. It was an anti-virus sweep. "tsk tsk!" the white haired man chuckled to himself, "A bit late to the party. No doubt you'll find it...but you won't be able to stop it now." he declared finally. He reached his door and he stepped through it just as the drone began to reach him. He closed the door behind him, and it was gone, as quickly as it had appeared. Meanwhile, all over New York City, a phenomenon was occurring. Everywhere in the city, in all of the boroughs, Queens, Brooklyn, The Bronx, Manhattan and Staten Island, people had stopped what they were doing. Every television, every billboard, every digital display, monitor and even the displays on the sides of buildings, they were all showing one message. A black screen with white text. The words were as clear as day: Hello World Nobody really understood. Why would they? Was this some sort of marketing stunt? The minutes rolled by but still there was nothing going on. The city had practically come to a standstill. Everybody was watching, waiting for something to happen. And then it did. The message disappeared and was replaced by the image of a man in a white suit, with white hair, and his face covered by a featureless, white mask. He stood there, peering out at the people who were gazing inwards on him. He was silent. Perhaps soaking in this moment he had created. --- Meanwhile Joseph was in hot water. The bosses were screaming at people. Everyone was on high alert. Nobody could figure out what was going on. All the data moving through their systems was gone. No that wasn't quite right. The data was making its way to their servers, but then when it was redistributed, it was all the same thing. Some creepy guy in a mask. "Someone get Accusense on the line!" Someone roared over the ruckus, "This has to be a virus! Or someone's hacked our internet or something! They can do that right?" Joseph sighed as he looked at his monitor. No matter what commands he tried to input, he was still staring at the masked man. As he stared at the man, his eyes widened, as he suddenly moved, giving his audience a little wave. It appears Joseph wasn't the only one to notice. The office was quickly hushed to silence and everyone fixed their gaze on this enigmatic masked man. --- "Hello New York!" The masked man said as he waved gently. Then he put his hands behind his back once more. He paused for a moment, contemplating, and then he continued. "Are you aware that your adverts and media are fed to you with a spoon, like you are children? Are you aware that these digital displays that you are no doubt watching me on right now, are normally used to bombard you with bought and paid for propaganda that is produced by corrupt media executives before being dissected and tweaked by your own government, before it is broadcast to you during times that are best suited to selling you their lies?" He then paused, placing a hand on his chin thoughtfully. "Well, it's not all lies, I mean, NRG really does give you tons of energy!" He shook his head as if physically removing the thought from himself. "The truth is you do all know this. You know that every day the people who rule this city opt to hold your hand and lead you through your routine, gently carrying you through your cold, dead, mundane existence. It doesn't sound so bad on the surface. Our life is full of luxuries. Without this world of wonderful technology I could not give you this message. Perhaps I should be grateful? Yeah, right. You see this is all very nice, but it's not enough. We could have more, so much more. Censorship has ruined our potential for innovation. Our society is supposedly based on democracy but that is a lie. We live in a city where people are segregated by their supposed value to the community. We live in a society where the highest population sectors also have the lowest incomes and the highest crime rates. We live in a society where the wealthiest people in the country earn more than the combined income of the entire country." The masked man stepped forward, bending down to lean against the screen, leering at his audience. "And you know it, don't you?" The masked man asked rhetorically, "Stop lying to yourself. Democracy? Did you vote for this? I know I didn't! You are manipulated through your fear to take a stand. It is time to wake up! We all know of the strange disappearances, our loved ones just fading away in the night. As soon as someone starts to speak out, they get snuffed from existence. What happens to them? I don't know. I promise you, though, I'm going to find out. I'm going to find out the truth, and I'm going to show you all. You could help me. I know you're afraid...but think about it. If you truly want change, then I will find you. I am watching. I'm waiting. Waiting for you. Every. Single. One." The masked man turned around, facing away from the screen, staring off into the darkness behind him. He sighed and paused once more. Then he turned back around to address the audience once more. "It only takes one. well, it takes a zero too. a one and a zero. Then before you know it you have lot's of ones and lot's of zeros. And that's all you need to create something wonderful. It's all ones and zeros, baby! So I'll be the one. I'll get this started. I'll be the catalyst that sparks the revolution. After today I'll just be the subject of a few whispers, a few hushed conversations. My name will echo through this city. Echo? Yeah that's it! My name is Echo. come join me. I'll be waiting for you at Protocol Zero. Look it up!" And then the screen went blank. Every screen went blank. For the first time in, well, ever, New York had a media black out. In a few hours it would no doubt all be back up and running. It was never meant to be permanent though. Today was just about the message. Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow was another day.

The year is 2030. The world is a technological marvel. Advances in science and computer innovation has lead to a world of convenience. Smartphones, Tablets, Computers are all connected to high speed internet connections with information at our fingertips like never before. With advances in cloud based storage, digital applications and modern software the people of this world are capable of interactivity and communication at any part of the world. With such marvelous technology available to us, we are in a time of great knowledge and freedom. Or at least that is how it should be. In the case of the western world, we have reached an age of totalitarianism. While democracy is still considered our form of government, the corruption and censorship created by the government has lead to votes being swayed by fear. Choice is but an illusion. In the case of the USA, it appears that free thought is a thing of the past. The streets are filled with propaganda, a result of a government controlled media. CCTV is in operation in almost every corner of the cities, which have grown exponentially and become vast metropolises. Police are out in force, armed with semi automatic weaponry and consisting of bullies and thugs. Laws are strict and a nationwide curfew is in place. New York is the most populated city on Earth. It's streets have been re-allocated into sectors, separated by large walls and government check points. Which sector you live in is down to your overall societal value. Low income workers, labourers and the unskilled are kept in high density sectors with harsher conditions. Whilst it is possible to live in more luxurious sectors, the high cost of education has created a system in which the wealthy continue to increase their knowledge and skill, as well as the abilities of their offspring, meanwhile the poor and unskilled stay that way, with little opportunity to progress and reach for loftier heights. All the while there are grumblings of disappearances. Those who speak out against these conditions often disappear in time, swept away by an unknown force. Everyone knows the perpetrator but most are too afraid to do anything about it. And so we are forced to live our life one day at a time, going through the motions, fulfilling the routine enforced on us by the rich and powerful. We are but cattle, grazing in a wasteland, waiting to die. The media satiates us with false promises of convenience, innovation, prosperity and most of all, a bright and wonderful future with so many possibilities. A future that will never come to pass. Unless, of course, we make a stand. All it takes is one person, a catalyst. Someone with the knowledge and skill to break down the walls that have been built around us. Someone who can provide a crack in the mainframe, allowing others to take a chance, and break through with sheer force and numbers. I am that person. My name is Echo. I offer for you all to join me in a revolution. No more will our lives be dictated by class. We will be judged by our boundless potential. We will be given choice and freedom once more. The end is nigh. They are watching, even now. But I am watching too. I am your beacon, your savior. I will be your sword and shield in this war against oppression. I will storm the front lines. All you must do, in order to succeed, is follow me into the unknown. I am watching. I am waiting. Seek me out. This rp is about an underground activist group formed by the enigmatic young super-hacker, known only as Echo. It will contain elements of computer hacking which will be portrayed in a stylised visual format in order to make the process seem more interesting to the reader. It will also involve elements of rebellion, such as field missions that will involve instigating riots, espionage, fraud, information theft and other illegal activities associated with this kind of political activism. The overall concept is to tell a story about a small group, that eventually grows exponentially in number. The influences for this roleplay are real world events such as current issues to do with censorship, the whole issue with wikileaks, Julian Assange, as well as the hacktivist group Anonymous. It also draws inpsiration from the upcoming game, Watch Dogs, and various other stuff. The RP is open but I am looking at it being only 3, maybe 4 people, including myself. I'll be quite picky about profiles as well, and calling dibs doesn't guarantee you a spot. so without further ado. Here is my profile: Name: Unknown Alias: Echo Age: 19 Place of Birth: Unknown Appearance: http://i.imgur.com/zYFcDWC.jpg Personality: Echo is best described as enigmatic. He is a complex individual with an incredibly introverted mind. Despite this he gives off an extroverted attitude at times. This is simply a mask. Echo is young, sarcastic, charming and has a spark that causes people to find inspiration from his words. He is exceptionally intelligent for his age. While his intentions, on the surface, seem pure, he is a manipulative person. He chooses to withhold information and convinces others to conduct his work as and when he sees fit. Underneath his complex exterior he is quite a depressed person, possibly struggling with un-diagnosed psychological issues. He can often seem blunt in his honesty, and is not afraid to upset people with his opinions. Bio: Echo is young and lives alone. He does not appear to have a job and often locks himself up in his small apartment for days or weeks at a time. Socially he can be quite an awkward person, but he is exceptionally smart, especially with computers. His IQ is at a genius level, and his understanding of technology has allowed him to become one of the world's most accomplished hackers. He has created ripples of notoriety in certain underground societies on the internet, talking of forming a group in order to take down the government. He strives to bring freedom back to society, but beyond that his motives are unclear. He survives through a funds generated by a complex system he has put in place which periodically removes small amounts of money from bank account in high value sectors where the holders do not notice the small drop in wealth. While this does not generate him an inordinate amount of money, it does allow him to pay his rent, by his food and equipment and fund his operation to a basic extent. Most notable is Echo's understanding of government security systems where he has developed a series of complex overrides allowing him to manipulate certain areas of the city, be it changing the data projected through digital billboards, unlocking and locking security doors, tapping communications devices such as phones and cameras. Online, Echo is one of the most dangerous and formidable hackers in existence. In person, however, he is but a scrawny young man, with very little skills to offer other than his insight, knowledge and leadership.

All right, this has nothing to do with Egyptian Pharaohs and the like, unfortunately. I do love their myths and legends though... Anyway, this is the idea box - for me - and a way for other people to seek me out if they have similar tastes in role playing. I only do 1 on 1 role plays because they are easier to organise, manage, and follow through with. Fiction/Fantasy is what I go for. I do prefer X-rated content, but it starts from R: it may include bloody descriptions or adult content. There is no 'and' in there mind you. Unless you keep them separate. Yeah. So please be sure you are of age and you do not find any such content vomit-inducing. Now if you're happy to have me as a role play partner, feel free to leave a post here or PM me. Then we can work something out and start! Yay!

OOC: Private RP between my self and BlackZodiac, rated 'X' for violence, blood, language, dark themes, etc. "And as the sun, that had been too afraid to show its face in this city, started to turn the black into grey, I smiled. Not out of happiness. But because I knew... that one day, I wouldn't have to do this anymore. One day, I could stop fighting. Because one day... I would win. One day, there will be no pain, no loss, no crime. Because of me, because I fight. For you. One day, I will win." - Batman [Horizon] The year is 2077. Ten years ago, Batman vanished, leaving the people of Gotham City to the seedy underbelly of criminal scum and psychopaths. Nobody could understand what happened or why he left, but he was never seen again. The bat signal was dismantled when he stopped coming, and life resumed for the people of Gotham, forgetting that once there had been a dark avenger, stalking the rooftops of the city. Ever waiting, ever watchful. But many felt that the Batman would return one day, but they could never have known it would take ten years, or that his return would signal the beginning of a dangerous new age for Gotham... [in Pursuit of Saren] "Oh damn!!" Jason Hunter cursed, looking over his shoulder as he ran down the street. He looked over the side of the suspended pedestrian lane and realised he was too high up from the city's ground level. The city had long since been separated into three distinct 'zones'. The top zone or 'Zone 01' was bright, sunny and most of the residential areas were given to politicians, the very rich or the very lucky. Zone 02 was where much of the population lived, they still had access to most every day amenities but the only light came from orange lights along the underside of the zone above them. It was a busy metropolis, often crowded to the point of breaking, but most people still lived good lives here. However, Zone 03 was a different story. Zone 03 was mostly comprised of a mixture of slums, manufacturing plants, and other city maintenance buildings. It was a place where the inhabitants were either homeless, living in the slums, or robots going about their daily duties, trying to keep the filth of the city in check. Gotham City had come a long way in the past fifty years. Constant redevelopment and advances in everything from technology to medicine had caused a sudden surge in the city's architecture. It was a true city of the future, replete with all the modern advances that had been made available from a number of sources, not least of all, thanks to Bruce Wayne's company - Once known as 'Wayne Enterprises' it was now known as Wayne Solutions. Most of the city was taken up by enormous buildings, stretching high into the sky. Multiple layers of floors allowed the city's booming population to come and go without gridlocking itself into some kind of human traffic jam. Bruce Wayne's motor vehicle hover technology had been pioneered in Gotham nearly 20 years ago, and now it was a common sight, at least, in Zone 01 where there was a greater degree of freedom in the sky. Jason Hunter took another look behind him, the man chasing him, almost twice his size, was catching up. "Ah man, I can't believe this!!" He pushed on, his lungs were burning, "Come on, Pete! It was just a joke!!" Jason called back without breaking his stride. "I'll smash your face in, Hunter!!" The older college student yelled back at him. Jason turned a corner as the path circled around the skyscraper and came to a dead end. A stop for taxis to pull in for pedestrians hailing a cab. His legs slowly came to a stop as he realised he was trapped. Jason swore, turning around to see Pete Larson come stampeding around the corner like a wild bull. "Now you're dead!!" "Ah," Jason put his hands up reflexively and looked over his shoulder, "Be reasonable, Pete!!" He took a step back until he was almost at the edge, his back nudged against the metal railing stopping him from falling several hundred feet down. "Come here, Hunter. This is the last time i'm gonna say it." Pete replied. Pete Larson was something of a college bully, he'd never really grown out of the rule from highschool, and it just so happened he had always found it amusing to beat on Jason. When Jason had moved to Gotham City University, it was sheer dumb luck that Pete had followed. [Agent Combat] What now? Jason thought. Pete didn't waste any time, he charged at Jason who instinctively ducked as the punch flew over his head, he rolled forwards and swung his leg around, sweeping Pete's legs out from under him. He started to run but Pete was already to his feet and giving chase. He looked up and saw a street lamp ahead of him. He ran for the metal pole. Pete roared behind him and as Jason turned once more as he reached the lamp post, Pete swung his large meaty fist at Jason's face. This time he leapt into the air, tucking his legs in and as Pete's fist struck the metal pole Jason landed on the man's arm expertly and even as Pete withdrew his fist in pain and confusion, Jason ran up the brute's arm and swiftly booted him in the jaw. Pete Larson - built like a wrestler - hit the ground, hard. Jason looked down at his watch, it was an old watch. One of those analog watches he'd seen in old magazines. He had been given it by his father a couple of years ago as a birthday present. Jason wasn't brilliant at a lot of his subjects, though he was intelligent, but he loved technology. New and old. He always wanted to know how something was put together, and how to take it apart. In this case, a kick to the jaw sufficed. The thought made him grin. Jason was an attractive young man of Japanese descent. He was in his late teen's with styled, medium length black hair, soft features and dark, almond-shaped eyes. There was no more time, he had to get to GCU or he was going to miss a second lecture already. It was only his third day. He was sure his lecturer was going to flip a lid when he arrived in late, besides, he wasnt going to stick around here any longer and wait for Pete to wake up. He turned and ran back the way he'd come. [The Citadel] At last, he saw it. There before him was Gotham City Universtiy. A giant building that took up a great portion of his view ahead, as he approached the college a robot that looked vaguely human, though silver in colour, put it's arm out. "Identification, Citizen." "Jason Hunter." He replied, pulling out his I.D. Card, the robot took it, scanned it once with its eyes, a little red light beaming back and forth over the I.D. Then a second later it looked up and did the same process with Jason, "Identification, Confirmed. Have a pleasant day." "Yeah, no kidding." He muttered, the robot let him pass into the university grounds. He sprinted down the main path towards the university's large double doors, while he loved technology overall he didn't like robots. They were cold and emotionless, made him feel uncomfortable. And unfortunately they seemed to be used for almost everything. From maintenance and cleaning to servants and city guards. He felt like it was a little bit overkill at times, especially as the robots carried guns and more often than not street thugs would ambush them and take their weaponry, providing them with a further means to commit crimes. Putting it from his mind, Jason reached the front doors and stepped inside as they opened automatically. Inside the university it was bright, white and very clean. A receptionist noticed him and ushered him on without further identification but before he got to his class he checked his watch and realised he'd actually now missed his entire day. Jason hung his head in frustration, this was not going to happen tomorrow, he'd make sure of it. Just as he put his hands on his hips and wondered what he was going to do for the remainder of the day, he heard a familiar voice.

OOC: Private RP between myself and Raine Bell, rated 'X' for treasure and '?' for Hook. â€œAll children, except one, grow up...â€ I will begin by saying that this story is true. Every last word. When you're a child, grown-ups will say to you that such tales cannot be true, for they have never seen it happen. But, as I have said, this story is true. And it is only as children that we know the truth, because as grown-ups... we forget. We forget that it ever happened at all. A good story might begin 'On a dark and stormy night', or 'Once upon a time'. But a true story will begin where all true stories begin - with the facts. London, England. It is the year 1894. Queen Victoria rules and Tower Bridge is finally completed and open for traffic. But none of this matters, not to the boy whose face is pressed firmly against Red's butchers shop. His bright and longing blue eyes stared through the dusty windows, watching as the butcher - a large and dangerously pink-skinned man - cut through a large flank of beef. "Stop it, Peter." Came a familiar voice. The boy at the window, whose name was called, sighed and pulled himself from the glass. "You're not going to feel any better just staring at it." Peter was a young man, some might say, though any grown-up would call him a child. He had slim, boyish good looks with angular, elfish features. His skin was tanned, as most the boys living on the streets and his hair was a thick, dirty-blonde scruffy mess. He turned to his friend, a younger boy of sixteen, Jacob. "I suppose." Peter muttered, kicking a pebble down the cobbled street. Jacob was a little more grounded than Peter. He often tried to look out for him, as Peter's head always seemed in the clouds. He was a plain child, a little taller and wider than Peter, with short brown hair. Both boys were covered in dirt and soot, and their clothes were just shy of rags. Their clothes were similar but Jacob always wore a flat cap tilted on one side, whereas Peter sported a pair of old, fingerless gloves. "What d'you suppose Fletch is wantin' today?" Jacob asked. Peter shook his head in response, "I don't know Jacob." He shrugged, "I think--" But as Peter was mid-thought, something caught his eye. For a moment, his face had a strangeness about it. Jacob had seen that face before, he followed Peter's gaze to a middle-aged man in a well-tailored suit. An incredibly tall top-hat sat upon his head and he carried a cane. Peter and Jacob exchanged a single glance and they knew what was to come next. Jacob was always the distraction, Peter was the pickpocket. Jacob was a good thief, but Peter was better at taking things without their ever having realised it was gone, at least, until it was too late. "Excuse me, Mister!" Jacob called over, walking up to the man. Peter started circling around the crowded street. He weaved through the moving waves of people until he was almost behind their target. Jacob was already mid-speech, telling the man about how he was starving, and needed money to eat, as did his friends. They made it a rule not to steal when they could help it. But, as Jacob was mid-sentence, the man shook his head, shaking his white-gloved hand. "No, no no, get out of my way, little wretch. Beg somewhere else!" He sharply pushed Jacob back and that was when Peter struck. He ran forwards and collided with the top-hat wearing man, quickly apologised and ran off. The man brushed himself off as though Peter was catching and then quickly walked on. "What'd you get?" Jacob asked, excited. Peter shushed his friend until they were just around the next corner, using a back alley for a little privacy. For a moment Peter looked dejected and Jacob studied him closely until at last Peter's face cracked and he held up a gold watch in one hand and a wallet in the other. "Oh Peter, for a moment I thought--" Jacob started. "-- you didn't think i'd come away with nothing, now, did you?" Peter beamed back. But something was wrong. Jacob stared in horror at him. Or rather, through him. Peter frowned but upon turning around, he understood his friend entirely. Stood directly in front of Peter, was a policeman, truncheon in hand. "He might not have seen it, boy. But I did." He paused, looking the two of the street thieves over, they were frozen in fright. "Hand it over, then--" As the words escaped the policeman's mouth, Peter got an overwhelming wish that he could just fly away, and so he did. He turned and ran as fast as he could, Jacob had already started and was several paces ahead of him. They ran furiously but before they could get to the other end of the alley, a second policeman blocked their path. The first leisurely strolled down the alley until they were trapped between them, there was nowhere else to go now but up. And they were hardly able to do that now, were they? Peter looked at Jacob, just before a truncheon came down on his head and everything faded to darkness. When Peter first opened his eyes, it was still dark. He was confused for a moment until he realised that he must have lost several hours. "Jacob!!" He croaked, calling out in the near-darkness. The alley only slightly lit by the stars above. Peter licked his lips, he was thirsty, his head was throbbing. He reached behind and flinched with pain as his fingertips gently grazed a lump hidden beneath his hair. His body ached all over. Peter undid a few buttons of his raggedy brown shirt beneath his jacket and found several vicious-looking bruises. They'd beaten him while he was unconscious. He stumbled forwards and out of the alley. A few people were milling around but most of the markets had closed and only a few vendors remained, closing their stalls. Peter walked through them as quietly as he could. Scanning the merchants for someone busy with their packing up. At last, he saw a fruit stall. The merchant was talking to another store owner. He had no time or interest in subtlety after his last attempt. Peter broke into a run, wincing at first as he realised just how much pain he was in, but he persisted and his run turned to a sprint. He snatched three apples off the merchant's stall and fled into the night even as the owner cried out, "Thief!!" "So here he is at last." The voice that welcomed him was as familiar - though not quite as welcoming - as Jacob's. It belonged to a man who called himself 'Fletch'. Peter and the other children would spend the day thieving. Then Fletch would collect up what they'd earnt, sell it on and give them food and a place to sleep. It wasn't much, but at least it was something. But Peter knew that to cross Fletch was just as dangerous, if not more so, than the coppers. "Sorry i'm late, Fletch." Peter said quietly, slumping down in a wooden chair. "Jacob tells me you had a little run in with the blue..." Fletch replied, matter-of-factly, in a calm and patient manner. He was a man in his thirties, muscular with a shaved head and a thick, curled mustache. Peter hated that mustache, he didn't know why. But he hated it. "So, what you got for me then, Peter?" At last Fletch looked up from counting a stack of coins, and though he smiled, there was no warmth in the expression. Peter cleared his throat. "Well, y'see Fletch, me and Jacob, we got nicked, didn't we?" When Fletch didn't reply, and just stared on in silence with that same smile, Peter felt compelled to continue, "And y'know, he hit me right hard like, I saw stars." "He did hit him something fierce, Fletch." Jacob added passionately. "Quiet." Fletch muttered, and Jacob didn't dare say another word. Fletch appeared to be studying Peter, he took one hand and thoughtfully tweaked the end of his mustache, after a long, strained silence, he sniffed, "You'll not get food, Peter." He said at last, "You pay your way in this house - if you're not griftin' you ain't gettin' food." Fletch ran two hands over his bald head, leaning back in the chair, "Be thankful you already got yer beatin', right? To bed with yeh." "Thank you, Fletch." Jacob said, speaking for Peter who was already walking upstairs. "He didn't mean it like, it won't happen again." Jacob started to follow Peter up the stairs. "Best not." Muttered Fletch. Peter crossed the upper room that had become their bedroom, he walked past rows of old, ratty mattresses until he came to his own and crawled onto it. He tried to lie on his left side but that was too painful. Some of the other street children rose from their mattresses upon hearing Peter cross the room. Jacob was just coming up the steps when one of them spoke. A boy no older than eight, who had no name when he first came to them, but because of his bright yellow hair the boys had taken to calling him Dan, after the dandelion weed. "Peter...?" Dan started, with a tone of curiosity, "Why'd you get caught?" Peter turned onto his back and rested his head on top of his hands, "I don't know, Dan." Another boy spoke up, Jack, he was nearly fifteen, "Come on Peter, you never get caught." "Don't be silly, Jack." Peter sighed, "Sometimes I do..." He just wanted the conversation to end. This had not been one of the best days. It had not been one of Peter's worse either, but he was sore and ill-tempered and he just wanted to rest. As another of the street children went to speak, a little girl called Beth, no older than ten, Peter reacted almost immediately. As the sound came from her mouth he thumped his mattress and barked, "To bed! All of you!!" His breathing was shallow, as he held the side of his ribs. Jacob and the other children were taken aback by Peter's raised voice and harsh tone. They'd never seen him get angry before. Jacob slowly pulled himself from the daze of seeing his friend as he did now, "Come on then, children..." Jacob muttered, turning from Peter, "It is time for bed." Jacob turned for one final look at Peter, but he was already turned away from them, his body facing the wall with a thin sheet pulled over him. For a long time Peter lay there in the darkness, the light of the stars coming in through the one window in the upper floor. Casting it's white glow on the wall in front of Peter. He stared at the brick for what felt like an eternity until all the other children in the room, at least fifteen of them, had fallen asleep. Of that, he was quite sure. At last, he wept, pulling his sheet up and over his head.

Private RP between myself and BlackZodiac. Rated 'X' for violence, blood and gore, dark themes, language and whatnot. Synopsis This is both a reboot, and sequel of, the Batman story. Many facts have been tweaked or entirely altered. Once, a masked vigilante known as the 'Batman' - true identity Bruce Wayne - stalked the rooftops of this sprawling metropolis, safeguarding its streets from thugs, criminals and all manner of scum. However, at age 30, while trying to protect an innocent, he was injured and left paralysed from the waist down. Forced to give up his career as the Batman, Bruce Wayne could only watch as over the years crime began to spread and grow rampant once more. 10 years later. The year is 2077, the world as we know it has changed. Bio-Technology, pharmaceuticals, human augmentation and many other advancements have brought Gotham City into a new age. But the city is anything but safe in this troubled time. Mega corporations plot behind doors, while secret factions take control of street crime for their own goals and psychopaths roam the streets, without fear of reprisal from the Batman. Bruce Wayne seemed to have given up his cape and cowl, but through an unfortunate series of events, he is forced to witness a young man experience a terrible pain he too once had to endure. Like him, it shapes this man's view of the world but from the ashes of this tragedy a new Batman is forged, reclaiming the legacy that Bruce Wayne had never truly given up on. Together, they forge a bond that will bring about a great change in Gotham. Unknown to them, however, that their actions in the revival of the Batman legend, would have rippling effects throughout the city, creating a new breed of supervillain, and the birth of Batman's greatest nemesis. Setting Our story takes place in Gotham City, just like in the regular stories. However, in our version of the story, it is set many decades after any other version, and Bruce Wayne had not been born until later, consequentially, he did not take up the Batman persona until much later. And while he fought a handful of master criminals and psychopaths, he did not encounter his iconic 'supervillains' as he had in other versions. The Joker, Killer Croc, Clayface, etc. These are characters that will effectively be created/birthed through events during the course of this story. It is in having to overcome this new level of threat, through a combination of his own strength, the technology of the future and Bruce Wayne's mentor-ship who has now effectively become 'Oracle' - that the new Batman will rise to reclaim the legend of his predecessor and take it to ever greater heights, and perhaps ever more tragic events. Name: Jason Hunter Age: 19 Appearance: 5'11'' with a slightly tanned, athletically muscular body. Jason is of Japanese descent. He has soft, handsome features, dark, almond-shaped eyes and medium length black hair, styled in choppy layers and framed around the face. He tends to wear dark clothes and wears a pendant his mother gave him when he was thirteen. Personality: Short-tempered and decidedly hot-headed, Jason can be impatient and at times rushes into situations without considering the ramifications. He can be intelligent, but his grades are, on occasion, below average as he spends most of his time focused on other pursuits, like playing the guitar, athletics and Selene Basette. He has a strong sense of right and wrong and hates to see people in distress but he is unruly and often gets into heated debates with his parents and younger brother. Despite his faults, he is a warm person, who strives to do right by others. History: Born to parents Arthur and Rose, Jason had a fairly normal life growing up with his younger brother, Michael. When he was a young child he met Selene Basette and the two became best friends virtually overnight. He had seen her whimsical and at times, impulsive nature, to mesh well with his own. Over the years he developed feelings for her though never said anything to her for fear of being rejected and so they fell into a comfortable friendship. Through highschool, he had, on more than one occasion, found himself doing something on the wrong side of the law, spurred on by Selene's suggestion. Sometimes he found himself living a double life, something he found both difficult yet enjoyable at the same time. He and his brother Michael were quite close and spent a lot of time together, but in the past couple of months, since being accepted to GCU (Gotham City University) he and his brother had become a little more distant. He felt it was because Michael thought that they wouldnt hang out any more, because he'd be too busy, which he wasn't sure whether it would be true or not. Jason had always had a tense relationship with his parents. While he was pretty straightforward on paper, it hadn't been the first time their parents had to apologise to a member of the GCPD for finding him up to no good. This often caused a row, and he became frustrated with his parents at times. Though, he loved them dearly. He had the regular problems that most young men had at his age, but, he was a confident, headstrong person who knew that one day he'd do something great with his life.

This is a dark re-telling of, and sequel to, Peter Pan. Rated 'X' for all possibilities including violence, dark themes, blood, language and all manner of horror and tragedy. It is a private RP between myself and Raine Bell, focused mostly around Peter and Tinkerbell - but feel free to read it. You have been warned!! NEVERLAND LOCATIONS Once, Neverland was a place of great beauty and happiness. And though many dangers lurked there, it was a place of great adventure and joy. Neverland is a place found in the minds of children, for it is said that once you have grown up, you cannot remain in, nor ever again reach it. The only way to get to Neverland is through flight and having prior knowledge of the star path that would lead you there, simplified sometimes to 'second star to the right, and straight on 'till morning'. For one can only enter Neverland in the transition from night to day, in the dawn. Time in Neverland is difficult to comprehend, for there are many more suns and moons in the sky than in our world (which they call 'The Mainland'), but it is said that if you wish to find time, you need only find the crocodile, as there is a clock inside it. It is a place where time quickly slows once you have arrived to the point of stopping. There are many places in Neverland, explored and hidden, some even say that new areas can spring up overnight, but the following have always been constants. Neverwood - Where the Lost Ones hunt and sometimes fight the pirates and the natives. The Neverwood takes up a good portion of the western part of the island. Never Plains - Beyond the Neverwood are vast plains that partially lie in the shadow of the mountain ranges in the very centre. The plains are the home of the Natives who are now led by Tiger Lily. It is difficult to get around the island without passing through here. Hometree - The original home of Peter Pan and the Lost Ones. Over time it expanded out from the great tree until at last it was a small village, linking between the ground and the trees with a series of bridges and minecart lines. Most of the Lost Ones live in the treetops so that they are not in immediate danger. Mermaids' Lagoon - The mermaids live here, it is also the location of Marooner's Rock, a place that is too dangerous for mortals to come near at night. For while it is safe to travel under the water to the other side to reach Marooner's Rock during the day, at night, it quickly fills up and anyone trapped inside can drown. Neverpeak Mountain - The largest of the mountains in the centre of the island, it is said that when one stands at the very top of its peak you can see over anyone and anything. Fae Hollow - In the south of the island, there is a secret path known only to Peter and the Faeries that grants access to the home of the Fae. From it, they would normally work to keep the seasons running fluidly, but since they were so few in number and of those that remained became twisted by the darkness, the seasons are in chaos, both in Neverland and in the Mainland (though the effects are far more severe and unpredictable in Neverland). Pirate Cove - The original place where Captain Hook anchored his ship, the Jolly Roger, but over time through necessity created a ramshackle town for the pirates, they cut down a large portion of trees surrounding the cove to assemble it. It now stands empty, like a ghost town. RACES There are more races, creatures and peoples in Neverland than there are stars in the sky, so I will just list the ones that, for now, are most prominent in our story. Fae - The Fae or Faerie/s have been on the island since it's birth, possibly before the dawn of time. They are a powerful and magical race with ancient knowledge of the inner workings of both Neverland and the Mainland. The Fae are split into different forms that are based on their talents and abilities. Though they vary, they are about the height of a child's hand, from wrist to finger tip. They have spectacular wings capable of flight that release a faint ringing sound when they flutter and are able to perform all kinds of unusual magic, though they often specialise in a single field. Their magic comes from the Faefont, which produces Faerie Dust. The Fae coat themselves in this magical material, which is the direct source of their power. Lost Ones - These poor children were once abandoned, lost or taken from their parents. After no human contact for three days, they are whisked away by a Faerie to Neverland. They were once the loyal comrades of Peter Pan, but after his long absence, they split into two factions. The ones that remained loyal to the Pan, and the ones that believed he had abandoned them, and would never return. In Peter's absence, the Lost Ones as well as the rest of Neverland began to age as normal and so many of them are a similar age to Peter. Pirates - It is unclear how the pirates first came to be in Neverland, but one thing is clear, the ship they came on was the Jolly Roger. Though they were once a vicious and bloodthirsty gang of cut-throats they have become something far more sinister under the control of something else. Natives - The Natives or 'redskins' are a group of wigwam-dwelling Native Americans. Like the pirates, it is unclear how they first came to be on Neverland, however, since that time, all Natives have been born in Neverland, including Tiger Lily. Though they often went to war with the pirates, they once had an amiable relationship with the Lost Ones, but no more. Mermaids - The mermaids, though tricksters and flirts, were good-natured (if neutral) creatures with the upper body of women, but the lower body of a fish. However, as with many things, over time the darkness took them and twisted them until they became truly deadly sirens, anyone who approached them would be lulled into their grasp and then mercilessly drowned. CHARACTERS There are too many characters in Neverland to really list them all, for as long as you might have completed your list, you would find that more had been born, brought to the island, or even appeared out of thin air before your very eyes. So I will list the most notable at the start of our story. Nap - Once it had been Peter's shadow, but no more. In his absence, Peter's shadow eventually turned to darkness and manifested itself as a physical being like any other on the island. He called himself 'Nap' as a perversion of the Pan and though he looks nearly identical to Peter, there are a few stark differences. His skin is a little paler. His hair, unlike Peter's, is almost jet black. Much the same, while Peter's eyes are a brilliant crystal blue, Nap's are a faded grey. He is the source of the corruption and darkness that has spread across Neverland. Captain James Hook - Once Peter's greatest nemesis, now he is a ghostly figure of the man he used to be. Like Peter, Hook never wanted to grow old and die, but when Peter left for years, time returned in earnest and Hook lost his nerve. Seeing his chance, Nap fought Hook in one-on-one combat and beat him easily, much like Peter had done before, but while Peter took Hook's right hand, Nap took his left eye, leaving a long vertical scar through his face. Upon defeating him, Nap declared himself the leader of the pirates and took them as part of his own army, twisting them into terrible creatures. Despite now being alone, James Hook is more dangerous than he has ever been before. A cornered animal, ready to strike, that Peter may be forced to align with in order to defeat Nap, though, this may be unwise. Mr. Shadow - Nap's right-hand man. While not as intelligent as Nap or Hook, Mr. Shadow is a ruthless and dangerous opponent who has many of the powers of darkness at his command. He is Nap's enforcer, who often leads Nap's armies. Swift - The leader of the loyal Lost Ones. Swift is a girl who was once one of Peter's closest friends and admirers, when he left, he asked Swift to lead the Lost Ones in his place. She is a resourceful and proud young woman with a short temper and a firecracker-like tomboy personality. Tiger Lily - Once the daughter to the Chief of her tribe, when the darkness took her and changed her, she became a violent and irrational killer. She took her father's life and assumed command of the Natives, becoming a dangerous and unpredictable force to be reckoned with, to both her enemies and Natives a-like. None would cross her or face her wrath. She wars on all sides, caring not who she kills. Mr. Ticks - Years ago, a pirate nicknamed the crocodile that ate Hook's right hand (and swallowed his clock). However, the name of the pirate who did this is unknown, as Hook killed him. Name: Peter Pan Age: Unknown (Appears 18 at the start of the story) Appearance: http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y207/Sephy_dude/PeterPan_zpse920de9b.jpg Personality: When Peter still had his memories, he was a boastful and careless boy. He would be quick to point out how great he is, can be selfish and forgetful at times. He had a nonchalant, devil-may-care attitude and was fearlessly cocky when facing danger. Despite his faults, he had a strong sense of justice and would always come to those in need. However, having lost his 'true' self, Peter may have retained some of his selfishness, but has lost many of his best traits. He can be cautious and suspicious at times and finds it difficult to trust others, he has little time for 'imagination' or the ramblings on of children. He has a strong desire for wealth and to crawl out of the gutter that he is forced to live in. History: The Faefont, source of the Fae's magic, producer of the Faerie Dust. It was there that Peter's story began. One day, that seemingly started as any other, something very strange happened. Though it was not spring, the flowers on the island began to bloom. Though it was not summer, the suns aligned and cast a warmth down upon Neverland. Though it was not Autumn, the trees turned a fantastic array of reds, oranges and browns. And though it was not winter, the lakes, rivers and waterfalls immediately froze over, as though time itself had stopped. The Faefont glowed a brilliant white, and from a pile of Faerie Dust, was born a baby boy with brilliant golden brown hair and crystal blue eyes. The Fae were shocked at first, as this had never happened before (and never did again), but being born of magic they knew he could not be evil and gave him a name. Pan. In the Fae tongue, it meant, quite literally 'Guardian'. From then on, the boy matured quickly at first, but as he began to get older, Pan came to a realisation that he did not want to grow up. He announced one day, "I won't grow up, and that will be that." And it was. He remained as he appeared then, around twelve, and did not age a day over. He did many great things; meeting and fighting his nemesis Captain James Hook, adventuring with Natives, teaching and playing with the Lost Ones that the Fae brought to Neverland to keep Pan company, and once they reached the same age as Peter, they too stopped ageing. But, after all his great deeds, after all his adventures (one of which involved a young girl called Wendy, who thought that "Pan isn't a very good name, is it?" and so called him 'Peter', and from then on he was Peter Pan), a change came over him. One day, he turned to the Lost Ones and told them he was leaving Neverland, forever. He left one of them in charge, a young girl called Swift, and then left without another word. He came to the Mainland, for which we call Earth, and promptly forgot who he was, where he was from, and what he had been. He forgot that his true name was 'Pan' and simply became 'Peter'. Nothing more. Six years passed, and the bright-eyed boy of twelve became a street thief who was not long eighteen. He did what he could to survive, to eat, and often wished for a better life. But, he got by. And yet, over the past few weeks, strange things had been happening. On occasion, he heard a faint ringing sound. He didn't understand it, but it sounded as though it was coming from a long, long way away. So far in fact, that he was the only one who seemed to hear it. Also, the weather in London (for that is where he was, in 1894 to be precise) seemed strangely unfitting for the time of year. But thought nothing of it, until one fateful day... Abilities: As Peter Pan, he was capable in most anything he set his mind to - he was an accomplished swordsman, having fought and defeated Hook on a number of occasions, he had the power to fly and levitate, for which he was very skilled, he was able to mimic all number of things from voices to objects to animal calls, and many other fine talents. However, as 'just Peter' he really only had two particular skills of note. Thieving, and running. Running for the times when his thieving was insufficient.